House of Cards
by Omega Devin
Summary: A year after the red eye, Lisa and Jackson are caught up in a deadly game of deceit and revenge when someone from Jackson's past catches up with him, hellbent on destorying both him and the other woman who captured his attention. Eventual JL.
1. Prologue: Every Known Reason

**Author's Note:** I do not own Red Eye in any way, shape or form (including the hotness that is Cillian Murphy, wah). Ever since I saw the movie for the first time, I knew I had to write a fanfiction based off it, mainly focusing around the intriguing relationship between Jackson and Lisa; or, more accurately, the lack thereof despite the suffocating amount of pheromones being exchanged throughout the whole movie. However, one-shots never worked very well for me, especially when I have a pack of ravenous plot-bunnies that live under my bed, who thought it would be funny to attack me the other night, so this real flesh and blood of this story came at me all at once; all I have to do now is give it a personality and bring it to life.

On that note, this is a shameless 'ship fic, and therefore, you can expect some Jackson/Lisa action later on. However, this isn't a fluff fic, but mostly my attempt to try to build a believable relationship between the two, incorporated with a hopefully working plot.

Also, I'm still looking for a beta for this fic, because I know my grammar can be nothing short of atrocious, or the horrid demon of repetition that likes to hang out over my shoulder. So, if anyone's interested in being a beta for me, please let me know! I would forever grateful!

On that note, I hope this fic makes it to the end, and I also hope that everyone enjoys it! Much love!

**House of Cards**

A Red Eye Fanfiction

Written by Omega Devin

-

**Prologue**

Every Known Reason

-

_How can we stand there and deny it,_

_After all we have been through?_

_How can we stand there and deny it,_

_And make a fool out of you?_

_Collapsing like houses of cards_

_And landing on splinters and glass…_

Zeromancer, "House of Cards"

-

She knew she should have hated him. Logically, she had every right to hate him. Even now, nearly two months after red eye flight 1019, Lisa Reisert would find herself lying in her bed in the early hours of the morning, trying to discern every reason why she was clearly justified to hate him – to hate Jackson Rippner – over and over again.

It seemed perfectly reasonable to hate someone who held her hostage on a plane. It should have been easy for her to hate someone who threatened to kill her father if she refused to take place in his plot of terrorism. She had every God-given right to hate the man who chased her through her father's house, hell-bent on slitting her throat.

But, heaven help her, all the excuses in the world couldn't spark enough animosity for her to feel the burning hatred for Jackson Rippner like she should have.

Maybe that was what kept her wake, hour after hour, night after night, in the two months following that faithful flight. Not thoughts on why she should hate Jackson Rippner, but rather the reasons why she _didn't_ hate him. Was it because of his eyes? Those pools of frozen crystal that held her captivated in the check-in line and terrorized her in that small, cramped airplane bathroom? Or had it been the faded memory of the man who invited her to the airport's Tex-Mex restaurant, the one who had smiled at her when she realized that she would be sitting next to him during the flight to Miami?

_Lies,_ Lisa told herself as she kept her eyes forward on the long stretch of crowded freeway before her. _It had all been lies, just an elaborate web of lies to snare me and use me in his plot of death and destruction. And I fell right into his trap, charmed by his false pretenses._

Some would have argued that it was love at first sight. Lisa snorted dryly, flipping on her turn signal as her car coasted down the exit off I-95, down to the 14th Street intersection below the freeway. Lisa had never believed in the notion of love at first sight. It was just a ridiculous idea that only gawky teenaged girls and desperate middle-aged women believed in. Oh sure, she could not deny that there had been some attraction when she first laid eyes her eyes on him. She had found herself ensnared by those incredible eyes, his irresistible charm, and it only ended up getting her into a world of trouble. That image of a kind, caring man has been shattered, smashed like crystal on a hard, cold floor the moment he revealed that he was holding her father's life ransom in exchange for that one damned call. But, still, the ghost of the man lingered on, those eyes a haunting memory of the first man she had trusted since her traumatic rape in the parking lot more than two years ago.

If Lisa could not make herself hate him for any other reason, she should have at least hated him for that. She had been hurt and betrayed after conjuring the courage to forget her scars and join him at the bar in the airport in Dallas, not wanting to give up what might have been, hoping that maybe her luck was finally taking a turn for the better. Their meeting had seemed to be fated, and that the seemingly perfect gentleman was too good to be true.

Turned out, he had been.

_Of course_. Should she have possibly expected anything more?

Lisa drove into the parking complex of Cedar Medical Center, pulling into an isolated stall and shutting off the engine. Before getting out of the car, though, she took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the steering wheel and exhaling slowly. _Why am I here? What can I possibly accomplish by coming here?_ The question had been playing on her mind since she made the decision to make this little escapade. No one else knew she was here. Her father would have done everything in his power to keep her from going, regardless that she was a grown woman and was able to make these kind of grown-up decisions, and Cynthia simply would have never understood.

_You can always go back. Turn around, go back, never look back. No one's making you do this, you hold no obligations._

But she did have an obligation. Her job had driven that frame of mind into her, cementing it into her conscious and locking it into place with iron deadbolts. People pleaser, twenty four-seven, regardless of how rude, how infuriating…

Even if that person was Jackson Rippner.

The hospital lobby was quiet and virtually empty except for a few blurry-eyed visitors and a couple of doctors speaking over a clipboard in hushed voices. The whole area had a heavy, oppressed feeling to it, as though an invisible weight were baring down on her from all sides, further emphasized by the harsh florescent lights and the bleak white walls. The predominate smell of alcohol and the overwhelming sterile stench made Lisa's stomach turn over. She hated hospitals.

_Turn back, turn back, turn back now before you make a horrible mistake, turn back before it's too late…_

"Excuse me." Lisa said quietly to the receptionist at the front desk, feeling as though her voice would shatter the delicate status quo of the hospital lobby. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with frazzled blonde hair and inch-long, red lacquered press-on nails, looked up at the younger woman with a bored expression. Lisa cleared her throat before continuing. "I-I'm here to see someone."

The receptionist sighed, picking up a clipboard laying at her elbow. "Who you visiting?"

Lisa cleared her throat again. "Jackson Rippner."

The receptionist glanced back up at Lisa with a cynical look, one heavily penciled eyebrow arched. "And your name?"

"Reisert. Lisa Reisert."

The look of recognition came as no surprise to Lisa. With as much press that she received the weeks following the attempted and failed Keefe assassination, Lisa had become something of a local celebrity until media turned its attention elsewhere. _Standing before the face of terrorism and coming out triumphant in the end_, the newscasters had said, or some othe r patriotic nonsense along those lines. It would only be a matter of time before some station to make a made-for-TV movie about her ordeal, although she was certain that if that were the case, the story would not be anything like what really happened. No one other than her father or her co-worker Cynthia knew what really took place before the terror on the red eye flight was ever underway, when she was duped by an elaborate act, a pair of blinding blue eyes and a gentle, seemingly genuine smile…

The receptionist regarded Lisa for a moment longer, staring hard at her through horn-rimmed glasses before handing the clipboard and a pen to Lisa through the reception window. "Honey, I don't know whether to call you brave or insane."

"Yeah. Me either." Lisa completed the paperwork quickly, and handed the clipboard back to the woman behind the desk.

"Room 314, take the first immediate right off the elevator. You can't miss it. There's a security guard at the door…in case you might need him."

"Thank you." Lisa nodded before heading down the empty corridor, towards the stainless steel hospital elevators. Along the way, she passed the hospital gift shop, where an arrangement of flowers and other get-well gifts caught her attention. After a moment's contemplation, Lisa entered the small shop and purchased a small bouquet of a half-dozen white carnations. It was a pitiful excuse for a get-well gift. When Lisa was sixteen she had her appendix removed, and the mild surgery kept her in the hospital for several days. During that time, she had received a staggering amount of get-well presents, including silly cards, cute little teddy bears with big glass eyes and gorgeous arrangements of brilliantly colored flowers. The carnations she had with her now seemed like a careless after-thought, like buy a meaningless gift in a Hallmark store when you forgot to get something for a friend's birthday. Besides, how would Jackson react upon seeing them? Would he think she was mocking him? Or would he see them as some pitiful peace offering?

More importantly, how would he regard her when she showed up in his room? There would be a certain amount of animosity, that she could count on. The last time she had seen him was when he lay in the entryway of her father's home, bleeding from the various wounds she inflicted on him as he looked up at her with eyes that clearly begged, _How_ _could this have happened?_ And she had pitied him then. She didn't gloat over her victory, that she was still standing while he lay broken on the tile, but she didn't hate him for the pain and terror that he had inflicted on her. But she was certain that he didn't feel the same. She had rightfully earned his hatred. Because of her, he had failed his job, been stabbed in the neck with a novelty Frankenstein pen and in the leg with a spike-heeled pump, and shot both by her and her father. It was amazing that neither of them had killed him. Now he was in the hospital, healing from said wounds, facing trial upon his release and, more than likely, a very, very long jail sentence if he was convicted. She deserved his hatred.

_And yet, here I am, in the elevator, heading up to Jackson's room, baring flowers. What am I even supposed to say? _How would it even affect her to see him, weakened and bound to the bed? It had been hard enough to look at him before the ambulance took him away, when their eyes locked for that last time in that one moment of eternity, leaving Lisa wondering ever since what could have been if they had met each other in another time, another place, when there was no job to come between them.

It was that thought, and the fact that it still played in the front of her mind that frightened her more than anything else.

_Jackson tried to kill me, tried to kill my father… I should hate him… Why am I still here?_

Lisa stepped out onto the third floor, taking an immediate right down a corridor that was surprisingly empty, just as the rest of the hospital had been, regardless of what the receptionist had told her. She held her breath as she approached the room that Jackson was supposed to be recovering in, step by weighted step, her heart thumping behind her ribs like a trapped bird throwing itself against the bars of its cage. Maybe the guard was inside the room? That would make their encounter either easier or much more difficult. Pausing outside of room 314, Lisa took a deep breath, lifted one hand and rapped on the closed door lightly with her knuckles.

No answer came from within.

She tried again, a little louder than before. Once more, she was met with silent. Still holding her breath, Lisa gripped the door handle and pushed the door open slowly. What she saw beyond caught her completely by surprise.

The room behind the door was completely empty. The walls were bare, the bed neatly made, the curtains drawn back to let in the Miami sun flood the vacant room. There was certainly no man recovering of his injuries here, no security guard to make sure that he stayed put. It looked as though the room had been unoccupied for a very, very long time.

Panic rose in Lisa's chest, causing her to choke and grip the flowers in her hand so hard that they wilted. _Calm down, Lisa, calm down._ Her rational mind tried to convince her, calling to her through a haze a fear. Perhaps she merely had the wrong room? She could have sworn she heard the nurse say suite 314 – she double-checked the numbers on the door only to re-confirm what she already knew – but Jackson Rippner wasn't here, that was for damn sure.

Lisa backed away from the room, her fear threatening to consume her. The back of her neck prickled, and she could swear that Jackson was behind her, ready to pounce…

"May I help you with something, miss?"

Lisa jumped and gave a startled yelp at the sudden voice behind her, and when she turned, she saw that it (thankfully) was not Jackson who had come up from behind, but rather an elderly doctor with graying hair and a stethoscope around his neck, looking at her with the most curious expression.

"The man…" Lisa stammered, attempting to catch her breath. "The man who was staying here…Jackson Rippner…where is he?"

The doctor peered over his shoulder, then gave a defeated sigh. "Oh yes… Our talented Mr. Rippner. It appears that while the guards were switching shifts this morning, he decided to check himself out. The devil only knows how he was able to get away, but only thing for sure is that he's gone. The police already know, of course, but we're trying to keep it a secret from most of the staff here for the time being. Don't want to start a panic. I'm terribly sorry you had to find out this way. What was your connection with him exactly, Miss?"

Lisa glanced back towards the empty room, then shook her head, her curls drifting lazily across her face. "Nothing." She finished for him. "There's no need to apologize. Thank you, doctor." Lisa turned and made her way back towards the elevator before the doctor had a chance to call out after her and ask her for her name. She did not want this to become any more complicated than it already was.

_So Jackson managed to escape_. Lisa thought glumly to herself as she leaned against one of the cold elevator walls, staring down at her shoes. _I guess I shouldn't be so surprised_. She should have never put it past Jackson to lay passively in a hospital bed while he body slowly rebuilt itself, waiting for the hand of justice to inevitably strike him down. No, he was by far too crafty for that.

But…how was _she_ supposed to feel? Did she feel afraid? Well, that was a given. She knew she should have been terrified. Jackson was on the loose – weak, but on the loose – and she did not have a doubt that revenge was the first thing on his mind. Yet, why wasn't she shaking? Why wasn't she curled into a ball on the floor of the elevator, crying and bawling over her fate?

_Because she had survived._

Jackson might have been out for her blood, but Lisa could not conjure the fear that she knew that she should have been rightfully feeling at that moment, knowing that he was loose and on the prowl. Sure, she could not deny that she was anxious; only a fool wouldn't be. But she wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid of Jackson. She had beaten him one, and she was damn sure that she could do it again.

She was, after all, a survivor.

Still…

The image of Jackson's room continued to haunt her. The doctor said that he had left only that morning, and yet the room was so…cold. Impersonal. There had been no flowers, no get-well cards, and certainly no cute teddy bears. Then again, she could not possibly imagine who would have sent him any to begin with. Still, she could not help but to feel it was a little heartbreaking, being left weak and alone and vulnerable in such an uncaring, horribly sterile environment with no one even bothering to come in to make sure you were alive and well…

The elevator dinged, letting her off on the hospital's ground floor. Lisa looked down at the carnations in her hand. Then, with a disgusted sneer, threw them into the trash.

-

_They crush your heart,_

_But spare your feet_

_Like judging people you've yet to meet_

_Well, time is running fast_

_Upon your reflection…_

_Trust me now…_


	2. Chapter One: You're Not Here

**Author's Note:** Wow, guys. 13 reviews for just a little prologue? I am awed and flattered by your interest and encouragement for this story! A special thanks to each and every one who reviewed for the prologue! I hope that the rest of the story doesn't disappoint.

**Chapter One**

**You're Not Here**

-x-

_So now what should I do, I'm strung out, addicted to you,_

_My body it aches, now that you're gone,_

_My supply fell through,_

_You gladly gave me everything you had and more,_

_You craved my happiness,_

_When you make me feel joy it makes you smile,_

_But now I feel your stress,_

_Love was never meant to be such a crazy affair, no_

_And who has time for tears,_

_Never thought I'd sit around and cry for your love, 'till now..._

_­­_

Akira Yamaoka, "You're Not Here", _Silent Hill 3_

-x-x-x-x-

"_I may have to steal you."_

That was the promise that he had made her, and Lisa held him to his word, waiting for his sudden arrival back into her life every day following the red eye incident. And every day, she was proven wrong, and all the energy she put into waiting and worrying went to waste.

Life eventually moved on. The first few weeks following the destruction of one of the Lux Atlantic's most luxurious suites gave Lisa little time to think or worry about much else, including Jackson's miraculous disappearing act from the Cedar Medical Center hospital. Aside from giving numerous of the same reports to police chiefs, specialist detectives and even a few FBI agents, Lisa was completely immersed in getting the hotel back on-line. This meant non-stop meetings to discuss issues such as insurance claims, damage reports, and unhappy customers who demanded compensation for the horrific incident. The phones never seemed to stop ringing, and Lisa's nerves were as frazzled as bad electrical wiring, and just as unstable.

Sleep offered little sanctuary. When she would have hoped that the eighteen-hour days would put her out like a light when she eventually stumbled into bed – usually still in her work clothes – she was plagued with nightmares and hallucinations that even her exhaustion could not extinguish. She no longer dreamt of the parking lot. Now she was back in the airplane bathroom, a pair of icy blue eyes bearing down on her as a strong hand lovingly suffocated the breath from her throat…

Lisa always awoke with a cry, drenched in cold sweat as she blindly groped for the field hockey stick she kept by her bed. Her room would always be empty, though, embraced by the shadows of early dawn, but it gave her no comfort. She knew he was still out there, biding his time, waiting for that moment of perfect revenge…

But he never returned. The world kept turning.

Weeks gradually passed into months. Six months following the red eye, Lisa stopped jumping at shadows, she was able to go out alone at night again, and she didn't look over her shoulder quite as often as she used to. Once things calmed down at the hotel, she fell back into her old workaholic habits, only this time around, she made sure that she had more time to herself. She was reading again, mostly in a hot bubble bath surrounded by an army of aroma therapeutic candles. Once a week, she made a point to go out with Cynthia for drinks at a local bar, or over to her father's house for dinner. She still didn't talk to her mother as much as she should have, and she still ordered sea breezes, and she still cooked scrambled eggs at three AM when she couldn't sleep.

She still dreamed of him, though, but only on nights following a particularly bad day at work. Nine months after the red eye, it was even less than that.

The seasons turned. The vacation holidays came and went. Her father still called no less than twice a day to check on her. Then, one day while standing at the reception desk, Lisa could not ignore the strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck, as though her brain was trying to remember something important that she unconsciously misplaced. It wasn't until the first wave of customer check-ins began to arrive that she realized…

It had been exactly one year to the day since the red eye flight from Dallas to Miami.

The revelation hit her harder than she every expected it would. The world reeled beneath her feet, and Lisa gasped as though all the air had been knocked from her lungs. The customers that she had been helping – a sweet elderly couple – looked at her with concern, asking if she was alright, before Lisa politely but hurriedly excused herself and all but ran to the employee bathroom.

Lisa bent over one of the bathroom's numerous porcelain sinks, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself. With shaking hands she turned one of the spigots, collecting the ice-cold water in her hands before splashing it on her face, clearing her senses.

_Calm down, Lisa, calm down…_ She had no reason to act in such a foolish manner like she did, but when she realized what day it was, a horrible ominous feeling fell over her like a shadow, making her skin crawl in such a way it felt like it would strip right off her bones. For the briefest of moments, she was so convinced that Jackson was sneaking up behind her to steal her away, just as he had promised, that she was overwhelmed with a sense of the utmost panic. But she was being stupid, she told herself as she splashed another handful of water on her face, feeling the icy droplets soak into her hairline and drip off her chin. Just because it was the one-year anniversary since the red eye did not mean that Jackson was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. She had felt the exact same way when she had decided to visit Jackson in the hospital two months following the flight only to discover that he had already left, that horrible sense that he would show up back into her life at any given time…

But he never did, and Lisa had not seen hide nor hair of him since he was taken away after her father shot him. Besides, she couldn't see him the type of villain to mark the anniversary in such a way. It seemed horribly cheesy, like something out of a bad horror movie sequel.

"Lisa?"

Lisa turned towards the bathroom door, mid-drying off her face with a paper towel to see her strawberry-blonde co-worker enter the bathroom, concern written all over her face. "Lisa? Are you okay? The Masons said that you took off from the desk like a bat out of hell."

Lisa finished drying her face, forcing a smile. "Yeah…yeah Cynthia, I'm alright."

"Are you sure? You look horrible."

"Yes, I'm sure." Lisa responded with an inward grimace at Cynthia's repeated question. "I just… I don't know what happened. I realized that today is a year since the red eye flight, when the Keefes were almost killed… I don't know why, but I just freaked. I'm alright now. It just caught me off guard."

"Really?" Cynthia blinked, astounded. "It's been a year already?" Lisa nodded, surprised at the passage of time as well. She couldn't decide on whether it felt like it happened a very long time ago, or only happened yesterday. Maybe it was a little of both, depending on which way she looked at it. The two women remained silent for another moment longer, Lisa slowly drying off her hands with another paper towel as Cynthia looked lost in thought. Finally, the redhead grinned broadly, spreading her arms in a triumphant gesture. "Well, you know what this means, right?"

Lisa looked at her, one eyebrow raised in question.

"It means it's time for a celebration drink!"

Lisa laughed dryly, throwing away the towel. "Now how in the world did you come up with that conclusion?"

"Think about it, Lisa. So much bad stuff could have happened on that night, and I'm not just talking about the Keefes. But you're still here; you _won_, when so many other people would have just keeled over! How do you think I would have done if I had been in your place? There aren't many people out there who are as strong or brave as you are, Lisa Reisert. So we're going to go celebrate it whether you want to or not!"

Lisa smiled brightly, suddenly in a much better mood. Regardless that her reasoning was ridiculous, leave it to Cynthia to make her feel better. Still, the realization of the significance, tagged with the horrific memories had Lisa's nerves frayed like old rope. "I think I'll take you up on that, Cynthia. A drink sounds good, actually."

"Great!" Cynthia exclaimed, grinning triumphantly. "You get off at eight, right? I'll meet you at the usual place then. And if you don't show up, I'll come to your house and drag you there myself, kay?"

Lisa couldn't help a laugh, only this time, it was genuine. "Sounds like a deal."

Cynthia left the bathroom with a bounce to her step. Lisa sighed, turning back to the mirror to straighten out his slightly disheveled hair back into place before heading back out to the lobby herself. It truly amazed her how much her co-worker had changed in the past year. When Cynthia first came to work for the Lux Atlantic, not more than four months before the attempted Keefe assassination, she had been so shy and meek that Lisa had a hard enough time getting her to just talk to the customers, and every time she became flustered, it was usually followed by a problem with the computers. The erasing of the Taylor's reservation on the night of the red eye flight had not been a first. Her involvement with the incident, as well as saving the Keefe's lives gave the younger woman a new sense of self-worth that boosted her confidence at work through the roof. Although the Taylors never returned to the Lux Atlantic, Lisa had no doubt that Cynthia's profound new mastery over her job and all its inner workings that she would knock them down their superiority ladder by a few rungs.

The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful, and while Lisa no longer believed that Jackson was waiting to pounce from behind some random corner (the mental image actually became quite amusing after a while, truth be told), she still jumped at the smallest things, and would have rather not go into the break room alone. When she was finally relieved from her shift at eight o'clock that evening, she made a point to engage in small conversations with a fellow receptionist just to make sure she had company when she walked to her car. And once she was in her car, with all the doors locked, of course, she called her father, just to "check in". If Joe had also realized the significance of that day's date, then he made no mention of it, but that still did not stop him from asking if she was "sure if she was okay" two or three times before the conversation was over.

_Christ_, Lisa thought to herself as folded her phone and put it back into her purse. _Nearly thirty years old and I'm still calling home to let Daddy know where I am with friend and that I'll be late coming home. It's almost as if high school never ended_.

"The usual place" that Cynthia had referred to was a small, relatively quiet night club located just a few blocks away from the Lux Atlantic resort in the middle of downtown Miami. _Le Cœur Solitaire._ A hopelessly romantic name for the hottest single's bar in all Miami. Lonely Heart. A fitting name for those seeking companionship, even if it was only for one night. When Cynthia first began to bring Lisa here as their friendship grew, Lisa had immediately known what the smaller blonde had been up to.

"_There's no harm in looking, Lisa." Cynthia had told her with those big, innocent doe-eyes when Lisa looked around at the interior of the bar with open disdain. Not that _Le Cœur Solitaire _was a dirty place by any means; it was its purpose that Lisa was opposed to. She was in no position to start a relationship, nor did she want to be involved with anyone at the time, the red eye and the rape put aside. She was too busy piecing her life back together to get it entangled with someone else and their schedules and problems._

"_Besides," Cynthia continued. "You never know what might happen. Maybe the next random meeting will turn out for the better. Imagine; the man you could spend the rest of your life with could be sitting right next to you, but you would never know that if you spend the rest of your life hiding behind the reception desk."_

_Yeah, I tried that once. No happily ever after there, that's for damn sure_. Lisa thought bitterly as she stirred the contents of her sea breeze absent-mindedly, watching the crystal beads of condensation run down the sides of the glass, thinking back on her past conversation with Cynthia and a certain time and encounter before that.

As usual, _Le Cœur Solitaire_ was nearly full to its max capacity, very near overflowing with people milling about the bar, or draped across the plush velvet couches lined along the subtle, creamy-colored walls. Each circular, candle-lit table was occupied by a small group of women, or by a man and a woman deeply submerged in the first awkward conversations of first meeting. As Lisa watched, she couldn't help but vaguely wonder, did they know if this first encounter would result in a one-night stand, a series of dates, or would they eventually be walking down the aisle together? It seemed only time and fate would know the answer to that, which was perhaps the one of the greatest questions in the universe.

_I can tell you what wouldn't happen. He wouldn't gain her trust, then hold her hostage on an airplane with her father's life on the line if she didn't make the call…_

_Stop that._

Lisa took a deep drink from her sea breeze, drowning out the memory of piercing blue eyes with the sharp bite of vodka and the citrus sweetness of the grapefruit.

"Hey you," Cynthia said, sliding next onto the empty barstool beside Lisa, her own drink still in hand. Judging by the rosy coloring in Cynthia's face and the slight glazed look in her eyes, Lisa guessed she was already on her third drink. One more and she wouldn't be able to string two coherent words together. Another one after that… Well, it wouldn't have been the first time Lisa would have to take Cynthia home. "Feeling better yet?"

Lisa shrugged half-heartedly. "I'm not sure."

Cynthia frowned, wavering slightly on the stool. "You're still not thinking about _that_ are you?"

Lisa looked at her friend, a small, inwardly ridiculing smile playing at the corners of her lips, with a slight twinge of sadness in her deep green eyes. "It's not something you easily forget about, Cynthia."

Her friend still continued to frown, but not because she looked upset, but rather as though she were contemplating something, but having a hard time grasping whatever she was searching for. "Are you thinking about the red eye flight… Or are you thinking about him, Lisa?"

Lisa choked on her current sip of sea breeze, upsetting the glass just enough so that it created a small shower of the pale, smoky liquid over the highly polished bar surface. "Am…am I thinking about… God no, Cynthia! Why would I be thinking about him… After he…"

"Hey, I'm not saying I blame you!" Cynthia said defensively, and Lisa paused, confused by what her friend was implying. How would she know? Jackson's picture was never shown on the television or any of the magazine articles, so how would she know about those blue eyes, or the features that were so strikingly handsome that you almost didn't notice until you really stopped to look at them… "If that had happened to me, I know I would probably be all freaked out today too, as well as any other time before that."

Lisa released the breath she was holding. No, of course Cynthia wouldn't assume that she hadn't been thinking of Jackson in terms of what happened on the plane, or the horrific ordeals and acts of violence that had taken place after they landed in Miami. She would have properly guessed that Lisa was haunted by the delicate balance her father's life hung in, when in actuality her thoughts kept returning to the bar in the Dallas airport. And before that, in the check-in line, when Jackson Rippner was still a completely different person than the Jack Rippner on the plane once they were in the air.

"Besides, I got something that'll help take your mind off that." Cynthia continued, changing the subject to something a little lighter. Lisa, however, felt her stomach drop. She knew exactly what was coming. "You know that guy I've been talking to? Well, he has a friend here who thinks you're hot."

_Bingo._

Risking a glance, Lisa looked past Cynthia's shoulder, over towards the tall, scruffy-looking man she had been talking to all night and his shorter, stockier friend who were both looking pointedly in their direction. Lisa broke eye contact almost immediately, but the damage had already been done, and the shorter man took it as an invitation to join them at the bar.

_Wonderful…_

"Give him a chance, Lisa." Cynthia whispered, gather up her drink to return to the guy she had been talking it. "You never know, something good might come out of it." Lisa only responded with a tired sigh, draining the last of her sea breeze and preparing her for the inevitable battle to come.

The man who slid into the vacant bat stool next to her wasn't necessarily unappealing. In fact, he was rather handsome in a rugged sort of way, and judging by the calluses on his hand and the dirt under his fingernails, she wondered briefly if he was some sort of construction worker, but her musing went no further than that. "Hey there, sweetheart. How about I buy you another drink?"

Lisa used the straw of her drink of push around the ice cubes in her glass, listening to them tinkle against the glass. Although the uninterested act seldom worked, it never hurt to try. The brighter ones always got the hint and pretty much left her alone right away. She could already tell this would not be the case with this one. "Only if you can guess it."

The man laughed, but it was uneasy, puzzled, but he hailed the bartender's attention anyway. "Sir, another round for whatever the young lady was having."

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Lisa teased lightly, casting a glance out of the corner of her eye but just evading his gaze. She noticed that he had blue eyes, but they were hardly anything remarkable. Nothing to catch her attention right away.

The guy laughed again. "Well, you show me someone who can guess someone's drink of choice and I will be thoroughly impressed." Lisa quirked a smile, but adverted her eyes again, wondering what would happen if Jackson suddenly showed up. Sure, he probably would scare the living shit out of her with his sudden appearance, but she did not have a doubt that he would get rid of the guy with his razor-sharp wit and the intimidation in his eyes before the other man realized what was happening.

Suddenly, Lisa very much wished for that kind of savior, even if it was Jackson.

_I must be going nuts._

"So, I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all by your lonesome as your friend goes off and has a good time."

"That's perfectly fine. I'm really only here for moral support."

"There's no harm in accepting a little company yourself."

"I know, but I'm really not in the mood. If I change my mind, I'll be sure to look you up."

The man frowned, finally getting taking the hint. Muttering something under his breath, he got up from the barstool and sulked away, back over to where his friend and Cynthia sat on one of the velvet couches opposite of the bar. Lisa sighed in relief, turning her attention to the untouched sea breeze. _Well, that could have been worse. At least he had the sense to leave before things got ugly._ It was hardly the first time she had to reject someone who showed the slightest trace of interest in her. That was one reason why she hated that Cynthia insisted that they still came here. There was always some desperate dog in the crowd whom she well knew weren't looking for a relationship, homing in on the saddest and loneliest-looking woman in the bar, hoping that they would get lucky. The fact that it was usually Lisa whom they sought out could not have been a very good sign on her behalf. At least this one had been smart enough to take the hint and not pressed her further. She was hardly in the mood, nor did she have the energy to fight.

Why was it so hard to accept a little male companionship, even if it wasn't for a little while? Although she would never admit it to anyone, Lisa could not deny that she was lonely, in more ways than one. The most human contact she had anymore was when she was at work, but if she wasn't there, or with her dad or Cynthia, then it meant long nights in her apartment, alone, watching classical movies on AMC and wondering where her life went wrong.

It hasn't been her fault. It had all been out of her control. That's what she kept telling herself over and over again. Who could blame her for being so suspicious of men anymore? And it wasn't even so much about the rape anymore, even though it still haunted her in the darkest recessions of her heart. It had only taken her a year before she stopped jumping or drawing away when one decided to approach her, making up excuses to put as much distance between them and herself as possible. A year after the rape, she found it possible to be in the presence of strangers again, but the scar on her chest was a constant reminder of that day, a skeleton in her closet that seemed to make her incapable of ever trusting anyone with her heart again. Work had been the excuse, the wall she had built around herself to not only protect herself from those awful memories, but also as a cheap way to convince herself that this was all she needed out of life. Relationships would only hinder everything she had worked so hard for.

It seemed like the best answer. That way, she wouldn't remember, save for the time when she happened to catch a glance of her scar in a mirror.

That way, she wouldn't be hurt.

But then Jackson ruined everything.

Because she had trusted him. The first in the two years following the parking lot incident. He had been so charming, so different than every other man who had ever tried to buy her dinner, or offered her a drink. No cheesy pickup lines there. And if there had been, he would have pulled it off with such grace that she would have missed it as such. She had been drawn in by his concern, his edge of dark humor, that smile when he had looked up at her when she stood in the airplane aisle…

And then he was gone, replaced by a cold-hearted assassin's manager who cared nothing for her, but only for his job that would ruin more than just the lives of the Keefes.

It was all over now, though, done and gone a year past. She had no doubt that she was the only one still affected by him.

_Damn him. Is this what you wanted, Jackson? Christ, why did I have to look at his eyes after I shot him…_

"Lisa?"

The concern in Cynthia's voice pulled her back to the here and now, her friend's hand on her shoulder reminding her where she was. "Lisa? Are you okay? You look like you're ready to cry."

Did she? Lisa cursed herself. The last thing she wanted to do was start crying over nothing in the middle of a bar. "I… I'm alright Cynthia. I think I just need to go."

"Oh…okay… Let me just go say goodbye to Rick first…"

"No…no, there's no reason for you to come, Cynthia. You stay here and enjoy yourself. I'll see you tomorrow at work, alright?"

"Okay, sure… But, Lisa, if you need anything, please call me, alright? You look like you just had your heart broken."

Lisa only smiled, giving Cynthia a light hug before gathering up her purse before leaving the bar, perhaps the only one to do so alone. She barely remembered the short trek back to her car, or the drive back to her apartment. She could only vaguely recall unlocking the door, then tossing her keys and purse onto the entryway table as she stepped into her dark apartment. The air was chilly from leaving the air conditioner on during the course of the day, and the modest-sized apartment itself was silent, dark, and although Lisa had finally made it feel homey and comfortable since she first moved in, tonight it felt as friendly as a tomb. A resting place for one. No one to visit. No one else to come home.

Lisa didn't bother turning on the lights. She only turned the deadbolt in the door, locking out the world, before unceremoniously kicking off her shoes and making her way to her bedroom without so much as running into a piece of furniture in the darkness. It would be another night where she wouldn't even bother to get undressed, but rather fell onto her bed as she was. She could always shower in the morning.

In the silence and the shadows of her bedroom, Cynthia's words came back to replay in her mind again.

_You look like you had your heart broken._

Lisa sighed, long and sad, burying her face in her pillows as it would hide her from the world.

_Maybe I have._

Unable to fight any longer, Lisa succumbed to her memories, to the darkest fantasies of what might have been, but the crushing reality of what never was to be.

-x-X-x-

**Author's End Note:** I don't think I've ever written a story that's more carefully choreographed than this fic is turning out to be. I think mostly it's because the Red Eye fandom is pretty much unexplored territory; I'm primarily a fantasy writer, so I'm quite literally taking this story a sentence at a time. I'm also making sure that I don't accidentally address an issue that I want to get to later. This story's going to do a lot of in-depth looks at the characters, but it has to play into the storyline and the developing relationship between Jackson and Lisa, so I don't want to jump the gun before we hit any of the juicer bits later on.

I also hope Lisa wasn't too OOC in this chapter, what with her constant reoccurring thoughts back to Jackson at all. In case you were wondering, no, Lisa doesn't assume that she was ever in love with Jackson (at least not in my opinion), but she certainly doesn't deny that she was seriously attracted to him at the airport before, in a literal sense, the shit hit the fan. That proves to be a major source of confusion for her, especially when it's been confirmed in the film that she was essentially a loner as Jackson watched her, and that we can safely assume that he was indeed the first person she opened up to since the rape. I can't imagine that that initial attraction disappeared immediately. The chemistry between the two was far too strong at the beginning of the movie, and was much more believable than between the two characters in a romance movie that are supposed to "end up" together at the end. I suppose this is why I'm so drawn to the Jackson/Lisa pairing, and why I'm so interested to see if it could work.

And, of course for the sake of the fanfic, it will, lol. I just hope I can make it believable along the way.

Jackson makes an appearance in the next chapter. I'm not sure how long it will take to get it out. Writing Jackson kind of frightens me.


	3. Chapter Two: The Man in the Shadows

**Chapter Two**

**Ignore the Man in the Shadows**

-x-

_I am the second_

_Alone in a faceless crowd_

_A human caught_

_I monotone dreams_

_I scream to wake up_

_My voice drowns deep underground_

_Only the dead can hear me,_

_See me…_

Akira Yamaoka, "Rain of Brass Petals", Silent Hill 3

-x-x-x-

It was hot. It was just too goddamned hot.

But saying it was merely hot was an understatement, Jackson thought with a grimace. It wasn't as hot as it was so stifling humid. The air of the marshlands was close and heavy and wet, and breathing it was like trying to breath through a wet washcloth. And it was sticky…there was just no other way to describe it.

Jackson hated it. He hated the way his clothes clung wetly to his body, forcing him to abandon his usual attire for a pair of khaki shorts and gray wife-beater, making him look like some ordinary yank rather than the esteemed manager that he was. The breeze that filtered into the house through the high French windows was hardly a relief; it was hot and sticky too. Thunder rumbled in the distance, an echo of the storm that had just passed over not more than an hour before. The air was rank with the smell of churned marsh water, decayed vegetation, and the masses of slimy things coaxed out by the rain.

Jackson sighed, turning away from the window and running a hand through his sweat-damped hair. The humidity had matted his thick brown hair to his forehead, clumping it uncomfortably at the back of his neck, giving him the perpetual feeling of just getting out of the shower. He hated that feeling, too. He had been meaning to ask Roxi to give him another haircut.

He hated it all. It was that simple. Being stuck out here, in this old, decrepit plantation house in the middle of the Louisiana marshland outside New Orleans with no air conditioner in the middle of summer was driving him insane.

_More so than normal._

Why Rodney and the others chose willingly to set this place up as their home base for the past five years was completely beyond him.

Something buzzed at Jackson's ear, and with a hiss of annoyance, he slapped the mosquito away. And the bugs! The goddamn bugs were enough to cause him to loose his mind alone!

"Come away from the window, Jackson. They'll eat you alive if you stay there."

Jackson heeded his associate's words silently, moving away from the open window and back into the darkened room, lit only by the flickering glow of a single television. The drone of half a dozen fans created a hypnotic hum, circulating the stagnate air but overall not doing much to lower the temperature. In the center of the near empty parlor, Jackson saw the silhouetted forms of his associates huddled before the forty-four inch TV, their attentions locked in a vicious Halo match. Roxi was winning again. Big surprise there.

With a frustrated grunt, Jackson slumped down onto the single worn sofa. Christ, it was so humid that even the cushions were damp. He winced as a trickle of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades. How could they sit there completely oblivious to this heat?

_Jesus Christ_. Jackson thought miserably. _How did it ever come to this?_

But he already knew the answer to that question. _She _had happened to him. Lisa Reisert. The one woman who had single-handedly managed to fuck everything up.

There was not a day that went by that Jackson was not haunted by the events of the red eye. The failure of the job could not have been pin-pointed to a single event; it had been a disaster since he had revealed his true intent to the woman sitting next to him on the plane. The eight weeks that he had spent watching Lisa, making careful observations in order to get to know her as well as possible before the job even started, had been all for naught. Who would have ever known that the people-pleasing, isolated chit of a hotel manager that he thought he knew would have put up such a fight? It wasn't so much that she had managed to efficiently kick the crap out of him with a field hockey stick (Rodney and the others still laughed about that, the assholes). It was everything that had come before that. The message in the Dr. Phil book hadn't been anything too remarkable. The soap-written message on the mirror on the bathroom, though? That was one he hasn't thought of, and it had almost cost him…cost both of them…very dearly. Then there was her clever little stunt with the pen. Jackson winced at the memory, absently fingering the scar at the base of his throat. He had to admit, he had to admire her for her creativity with that one.

"Christ, Jackson, stop picking at it. You're dwelling again."

Jackson scoffed, letting his hand fall away from his throat. "I am not dwelling." He countered.

From where he sat on the floor, Rodney rolled his eyes, although Jackson could feel the gesture more so than see it, given his companion's features were lost in shadow against the TV screen. "Whatever, man."

But Jackson was dwelling, and no matter how much he denied it, they all damn well knew it. But who could blame him? It was because of Lisa Reisert that he was in his current position now. Although his company did not fire him for the botched job – or, even worse, kill him for it, thank God – the failure did not come without its repercussions. Instead, he had been put on indefinite suspension, poised in a delicate balance that did not put him out of the job, but kept him from _doing_ his job all the same. As his superiors saw it, Jackson was too valuable of an asset to the company for them to simply let him go or knock him off; he had always taken pride of being one of the best managers in their current state, regardless of his younger age compared to the rest. No one in their history had become a manager in only ten years since joining. It had always been attributed to lack of experience, but Jackson was able to prove his worth in a mere five years after his employment began.

To top everything else off, the law was still after him. Not so much for the attempted Keefe assassination, however, but more so for the attempted murder of Lisa Reisert in her own home. Not that it would have been easy for the authorities to trace him to the assassination, even if they did look at the calling records of his cell-phone; his company was always ten steps ahead to prevent something like that from happening in case one of their people was ever intercepted if a job failed. Still, his little disappearing act from the hospital room was enough to snag some unwanted attention, and so it was only in Jackson's best interest to lay low for a while until authority's sights were set elsewhere.

That was why he was stuck in his festering house in the middle of the Louisiana swamplands to begin with. And after being here for nearly ten months, he was almost ready to take his chances on the outside again, had it not been for his superior's strict instructions that he stay put if he wanted any hope of keeping his job in the near future. It had been tolerable, at first, considering that this was the first time he got to see his old college buddies in years. But as the weeks wore onto months, and the months were progressing into a year after his arrival, Jackson became increasingly restless, finding himself dwelling more and more on the past as the scars on his body itched with the constant reminder of his failure.

Then there was Lisa… Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, who infected his thoughts like a plague! A noxious, incurable plague with no remedy to at least sooth the seething animosity he felt every time he thought of her.

He had been fooled by his assumptions of her; even after watching her for eight weeks, recording each and every little thing she did, it had done nothing to prepare him for the surprising fight she had put up from the very moment he had her cornered on the red eye flight. But he would be damned before he would admit that perhaps he had been too arrogant, too overconfident in believing that the job would be quick and effortless, easy-in, easy-out, move on with his life once he got the confirmation call that the Keefes had been taken out.

"_I can't believe that." Byron had said, shortly after Jackson arrived at their safe-house and he told them the full story was what exactly happened on the red eye. There was no use skimping around the truth; he never lied, and even if he did, he couldn't put it past his friends to not know when he was bull-shitting any details in the story. "You, who have been responsible for organizing some of the top-ranking assassination in the past five years, being bested by a cute little hotel manager? Sounds to me like you're beating around the bush, Jackie-boy."_

"_Seriously, Jackson."_ _Roxi had sneered over a bottle of beer. "Who ever thought that you would be one to fuck things up over some bitch?"_

Jackson had glared daggers at Roxi for saying that – hell, he had killed people for less than that! – but no amount of arguing could deny that it had been that one insignificant moment of weakness that caused his downfall, that one instant that he allowed himself to feel some sympathy for the woman he had dragged into his plot to knock off Keefe. It had been that scar… That fucking scar! That was perhaps what haunted him the most. How different would the job have turned out if he had never found it? He could probably safely bet his left nut that he wouldn't be in his current situation. If he hadn't known about the scar, there would have been no need for that momentary lapse in weakness. He probably could have even stopped her from jamming that pen into his windpipe, seeing as he would have had no reason to lower his defenses.

"_I can't believe that was the only reason." Rodney said once the others were out of hearing distance. "Sounds to me, Jackson, like you were rather enjoying yourself with her before you ever stepped foot on that plane. In all honesty, I don't remember you being that open around a girl since we were still living in the dorms at college."_

_It meant nothing…_ Jackson thought to himself. The flirting had only been a cover, only as a means to gain her trust to make the job go easier once it was in full swing. There wasn't supposed to have _been_ anything about Lisa that attracted him to her, before he ever found out about that bloody scar, but he would be dead and buried six feet under before he admitted to any of them the way her smile made his pulse speed up the slightest bit in his veins, how he burned with the secret curiosity to know why she was so secretive, so utterly alone…

_Nothing at all_…

Somewhere in the depths of the darkened house, a phone rang, an electronic sound that meant it could have been nothing but business. It only rang twice before being silenced, have been being answered by the fourth member of the group that resided in the house before Jackson came to stay. Sure enough, not more than a few minutes later, a shadowed figure appeared in the doorway, holding a mobile phone in one hand.

"Higher Ops just called." Lionel said. "Apparently the drug traffickers in Florida have been engaging in more suspicious activity than normal. We're supposed to keep an eye on them."

No one looked up from the TV screen. "Old news." Byron said. "Since when has that ring not been involved in any suspicious activity?"

"Apparently they've been spotted talking to some unknown party, but it's assumed that it might be linked to politics or something like that. They just want you to tap the phones, Rod. Nothing serious, they just want us to keep an eye on it."

"Fine, fine." Rodney said nonchalantly. "I'll get on it in the morning."

From where he lay on the couch, Jackson suppressed a groan, draping an arm over his eyes. Every time the phone rang, he could not help but hope that it would be High Ops informing him that they needed him back on the force, that some assignment had at last surfaced that they needed him to handle…

But for the last ten months he had only been faced with one disappointment after another. There was nothing too terribly special about watching crime rings or drug traffickers… That was not his field of expertise. But for the intelligence teams, like Rodney, Roxi, Byron and Lionel, this was right up their ally, and Jackson had no other choice but to continue to sit on the sidelines and watch the world pass him by.

All because of one woman…

His fingers were back at the base of his throat, only this time he wasn't even aware of it.

-

**Author's Notes:** Slow-moving, I know, but at least Jackson's finally in the scene. I apologize for the tardiness of this chapter, and the fact that it's so short, but it wasn't exactly easy to write. I'm not so happy with the end, either, so I might go back and edit it later. But for now, it's almost 2:30 AM, and I need to sleep.


	4. Chapter Three: The Uninvited

**Chapter Three**

**The Uninvited**

-x-

_Something's wrong, shut the light_

_Heavy thoughts tonight _

_And they aren't of snow white_

_Dreams of war, dreams of liars,_

_Dreams of dragon's fire_

_And of things that will bite…_

_Sleep with one eye open_

_Gripping your pillow tight…_

_Exit light_

_Enter night_

_Take my hand_

_We're off to never, never land_

Metallica, "Enter Sandman"

-x-x-x-

It started off as any other day; a Tuesday, to be precise. Nothing out of the ordinary that would betray the events that would soon take place to once again turn Lisa's life upside town.

Lisa was up with the dawn, at about six AM after hitting the snooze button no more than three times before she eventually managed to roll out of bed. It seemed to be getting harder to get out of bed in the morning anymore, in the year following the red eye flight. Before that fated night, it had been easy for her to rise with the sun, looking forward to the day with a refreshed sense of optimism, ready to take on anything her job could throw at her. But as the weeks and months continued to tick by, Lisa found herself becoming less and less content with her once orderly, clockwork lifestyle. She could almost feel her patience getting thinner and more worn by the day, like a rock that was continually battered in the surf. Each day she returned home with a sense of longing for something different, a break in the monotony of routine, but finding herself lacking the courage to do so.

Routine had helped her survive the trauma of rape, helped her get back on schedule after the red eye incident, but it only lasted for so long. Unlike her ordeal with the rape, Lisa's encounter with Jackson Rippner had not left her scarred or traumatized, whether it was physically or mentally. In fact, she was sure she was a stronger person after the red eye flight than any other time in her life. There was no need for routine anymore to help her forget or cope. And now, stuck in the mundane cycle of everyday life, Lisa could not help but to regrettably feel that life was passing her by, and she was still watching from the sidelines.

After a quick, cold shower to help her further wake up, Lisa chose her appropriate work clothes for the day – a high-collared shirt and knee length skirt, as always – styled her hair and makeup the same way she always did, then proceeded to head downstairs, not bothering with breakfast as she grabbed her purse from the hallway table and heading outside. She had no time for breakfast anymore, not when she was getting out of bed later and later. Starbucks had become a poor substitute for a proper meal in the morning, and she was never one to have a latte sit well on an empty stomach. Still all routine, still all unexceptional. Lisa was very quickly becoming one of the most boring people that she knew. Even her father had more of a life than she did, whether it was out playing golf or poker with his old friends from work, when he was not spending the rest of his time worrying about her.

The first half of the day was uneventful, or at least as much in the Lux Atlantic's terms. On top of the waves of check-in, check-outs, security clearances and maintenance authorizations, there were always a slew of "customers with special needs" to attend to. Today was particularly trying, more so than usual. First there was the guests who demanded why their son couldn't hook up his Playstation to their room TV, and then there was the whole fiasco regarding a hung over frat boys who tried to convince Lisa that their room was thrashed before they even checked in, blaming the poor Puerto Rican cleaning women of not doing their jobs properly as they tried to defend themselves in broken English. Lisa had a pounding headache before it was even lunch that not even her prescription stress medication could touch. Her nerves were a series of tangles and knots as she took a much-needed break in the back shortly after security had to fish a couple of rowdy kids out of the front fountain who decided to go skinny dipping because they couldn't wait for their parents to take them to the beach.

_When did it ever come to this?_ Lisa thought miserably to herself as she massaged her temples, the back of her eyes throbbing so badly that she felt like they were going to explode in their sockets. _I used to love this job. It was everything to me. Yet why does everything suddenly feel so…pointless?_

"Lisa?"

A small squeak of a voice from the break room door caused Lisa to look up to see Cynthia standing there. Lisa had to suppress a groan. The younger women had one of those "I-think-I-screwed-up" looks on her face, which was the last thing Lisa wanted to deal with on top of everything else that day. Lisa honestly did not want to take out her pent-up frustration out on her friend, but God knew that she could no longer be held responsible for her actions if she had to deal with one more stupid ordeal that day…

"There's someone at the front desk who wants to see you." Cynthia said. "I…I think that she might work for some magazine or something…"

Lisa did groan audibly that time, her head falling against the back of her chair. She had hoped that in the year following the attempted Keefe assassination that people would stop wanting to interview her on her perspective on the ordeal. Apparently all that hoping had been for naught. "Tell them I'm not interested."

"I don't think it's a journalism magazine, Lisa, I think she said she was from some travel magazine or something. She's really, really intent on talking to the hotel manager. She won't let any of the other receptionists answer her questions, she only wants to talk to you."

Lisa's head gave a particularly painful throb. If it was a journalism magazine wanting to do some follow up story on the Keefe incident, then Lisa could have easily told the woman that she could not be disturbed at work, then set up some faux time for an interview which could be efficiently dodged until the reporter eventually lost interest. But a travel magazine was different, especially if they were doing a promotional article on the Lux Atlantic. Corporate would never allow her to pass up an opportunity to further publicize the hotel, especially after one of their finest suites was blown to hell.

"Duty calls, then." Lisa said sarcastically, pushing herself off the chair and following Cynthia to the front reception desk.

The lobby was thronged with milling people, most with mountains of luggage in tow, others either ready to take an expedition to downtown Miami for lunch or shopping, or to head down to the resort's private beach not more than two blocks away. Standing in the middle of it all was simply the most beautiful woman that Lisa had ever seen. Long black hair framed a striking face complete with high cheekbones, a delicate chin and large, dark eyes, all complimented by a to-die-for body clad in a suit that Lisa was sure cost more than an entire month's pay at the hotel. The woman radiated professionalism and elegance, easily drawing all attention in the hotel lobby to her. No, not drawing attention, Lisa noted. She _demanded_ it. Lisa swallowed, brushing her hair back from her face, smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt, then put on her best manager's smile before stepping out from behind the desk. The woman turned to look at her as she approached, and Lisa felt sudden a chill run down her spine, her smile faltering. The woman might have been beautiful, but she was…cold. There was just no other way to describe it. Colder than any other person Lisa had ever met in her life…

Jackson included.

"Hi, I'm Lisa Reisert, manager of the Lux Atlantic. May I help you?"

The woman smiled, her full lips turning up just slightly at the corners. "Miss Reisert. My name is Lenore Bardwell. I'm a writer for _Regal America_. Perhaps you've heard of us?" Lisa felt her stomach turn over. _Regal America _was the top travel magazine for the rich and famous worldwide, one of those "if you have to ask the price, you shouldn't be reading" sort of journals. As far as Lisa knew, the Lux Atlantic never before had an article printed in the magazine other than a fleeting mention a few times a year. If corporate found out that Lisa nearly turned them down…

"Yes, of course." Lisa answered carefully, fighting to keep her cool. "What can I do for you, Ms. Bardwell?"

"I am here hoping to write a full article on your hotel. You see, the Lux Atlantic has gotten a substantial amount of press this last year, what with the terrorist attack and all, and our offices have been overrun with customers wanting more information on the hotel. Now, granted that we've never done an article on the Lux Atlantic before because of…standards…" Lenore noted, glancing around at some of the guests in the lobby. Lisa felt a pang of irritation, and decided immediately that she did not like the woman. The journalist turned back to Lisa, her eyes glinting with cold humor. "But upon looking into the hotel, my editors decided that it's worth at least investigating, then they decide from there if the Lux Atlantic would be a suitable hotel for our customers."

Lisa's smile was gone, her green eyes narrowed at the other woman. "The Lux Atlantic is a beach resort, Ms. Bardwell, not a celebrity penthouse. If you even have to question whether or not your _customers_ find this hotel worthy enough for them, or you have to judge our regular guests, then you and your magazine do not belong here."

If the woman was offended by Lisa's words, she did not show it. Instead, she only smiled, her lips curling around perfect white teeth, reminding Lisa very much of a predator. "Please, Miss Reisert. I insist. And I don't think your superiors would be very pleased if they found out that you turned us down."

A growl resonated in Lisa's chest, but she kept it suppressed. She only smiled again, tight and warning as she nodded. "This way, then."

They started with the grand tour of the Lux Atlantic. Lisa took Lenore Bardwell through the lobby, walking her through their computer system to show its top-of-the-line programs. Then she showed her to the ballrooms, naming off the events that took place there before heading to the hotel's renowned pools, bars, restaurants and gym. Lisa took her through the guest rooms, fighting back a retort when Lenore turned her nose up at the regular rooms, before they went up to the VIP suites on the top floors. Lenore seemed particularly anxious to see the suites, in particular the newly renovated room 4080, and Lisa felt a tingle of premonition run down her spine.

_Great._ _She's going to ask about the Keefe incident_.

When Lenore stepped into room 4080, a strange sort of smile spread over her face, and Lisa wanted nothing more than the interview to be over as soon as possible. "Magnificent." The journalist said. "You would have never guessed that this room was destroyed by a bomb last year."

"Missile,actually." Lisa corrected her without thinking, silently berating her own irrationality. "And yes, we had one of the most able construction crews in Florida rebuild the entire floor after the incident. Granted, no one's willing to stay here much, anymore, except for maybe a few curious tourists who want to 'be a part of history' as they put it. But most people assume now that this room's bad luck, or something like that. As if we get missiles shot at the hotel on a regular basis." Lisa laughed dryly, but it died in her throat when Lenore peered at her from over her shoulder. "But our suites have had a long list of VIPs, long before the Keefes were guests here. This was a favorite hotel of President Carter, and Bush Senior was a guest a few times during his term. Every now and then a celebrity will stay. Julia Roberts actually was in this room about five years ago, and she sent personal sympathy when she learned that it was destroyed…"

"I'm not interested in who's stayed here in the past, Ms. Reisert." Lisa could have sworn that the temperature of the room dropped ten degrees when Lenore spoke. "I'm interested in what happened last year."

Lisa stiffened. "I don't think that it's a good story for your article, Ms. Bardwell. For the past year we've been trying to rebuild the Lux Atlantic's reputation. We don't need a new group of your customers showing up and dredging up past events."

"Oh, it's not for the article. Call it a personal interest. And, seeing how I'm speaking to the one person who went through the whole ordeal first-hand, I figured there's no one else better I could get the whole story from."

"There's not much else to say other than what you might have heard in the papers and the news." Lisa said carefully. She suddenly felt trapped, like a mouse caught in a cobra's unblinking gaze as Lenore peered at her, silently urging her to continue. "Keefe stirred up some bad blood with his new policies on National Security, and I was kidnapped to make the call to change his room so…"

"I'm not interested about that." Lenore snapped, making Lisa start. Then the other woman's face softened, that icy smile back on her lips. "I'm more interested about the part that you didn't talk about in the news. Tell me, Miss Reisert, about the man who held you captive on that plane."

"Jackson?" Lisa questioned, now thoroughly confused. There was something amiss here, something lurking below the surface. Warning bells were sounding dangerously loud in Lisa's head, her blood pounding in her ears. She swallowed thickly, choosing her words carefully. "What's there to say about him? He was a terrorist, and he used me for his job. I was able to get away from him, warn the hotel, but he followed me back to my father's house. He would have killed me had my father not shot him."

"Ah, yes. Terribly good luck on your part, wouldn't you say? Had it not been for that little stunt with the pen, then you probably would have never gotten away from him."

"No, I suppose…" Lisa's words trailed off, and she looked back at Lenore as fear began to pit in her stomach. "Wait a moment… I never said anything about the pen."

"Oh. Well, I must have heard about it in the news."

"No… I never said anything about it there either."

Lenore continued to stare at Lisa, then scoffed, turning away. "Well then, Miss Reisert, I think that about completes our interview. Thank you for your time." The woman brushed past Lisa, holding the suite door open for her. "Shall we?"

Lisa walked out of room 4080, her legs shaking under her. Something was wrong. She had to get away from this woman, get her out of the hotel, away from her and the guests…

It was Lenore's returning voice that caused Lisa to pause again. "Oh, I also heard some time back that Jackson escaped from the hospital and is still on the loose. Tell me, my dear, are you still afraid of him?"

Lisa stiffened. "I was never afraid of Jackson."

"Is that so? So you mean to tell me that you believe that he has no reason to one day, suddenly show back up in your life to complete his revenge?"

Before Lisa could respond, something closed over her mouth and nose, her senses filled with an offensive odor as strong hands pinned her arms behind her back, holding onto her shoulders as she struggled and screamed, her voice muffled by the cloth over her face. A wave of exhaustion rolled over her as the chloroform began to take effect, and Lisa's vision dimmed as her own struggles drifted further and further away. The last thing she saw was Lenore's icy eyes before the world went black.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note:** Woo, quick update! Once I started this chapter, it really just wrote itself. It was supposed to be longer, but I thought this was a good place to leave off. Still kinda clique, I know, but trust me, it should get better. Lenore's character came out nicely, IMO. She's fun to write and fun to hate. I can't promise an update this quick next time, but stay with me! I love you all!


	5. Chapter Four: The Game

**Chapter Four**

**The Game**

-x-

_Tell me exactly what I'm supposed to do,_

_Now that I've allowed you to beat me,_

_Do you think that we could play another game,_

_Maybe I could win this time…_

_I kind of like the misery you've put me through,_

_Darling, you can't trust me completely,_

_If you even try to look the other way,_

_I think that I could kill this time!_

_It doesn't really seem that I'm getting through to you_

_Though I see you weeping so sweetly_

_I think that you might have to take another taste_

_A little bit of hell this time_

Disturbed, "The Game"

-x-x-x-

Pain. Throbbing, piercing pain in her temples, behind her eyes, in the back of her head. Pain filled her entire world. It was all she might have well known.

The world slowly came back into focus, the darkness lifting away from Lisa's mind and eyes like a curtain, but the pain still remained. Lisa groaned, attempting to raise a hand to run the throbbing in her temples, only to find out that she could not. The haze that had clouded her mind only moments before was swiftly replaced by a stab of panic. Her hands… Her hands and her feet had been bound behind her back with some sort of course rope that bit painfully into her skin as she struggled against them. Lisa moaned, only to hear that her own voice was muffled behind a gag that had been forced between her lips as she lay helplessly on her side. Her heart began to hammer behind her ribs as she remembered what happened.

Lenore… She remembered the woman named Lenore who had claimed to be a journalist for _Regal America_, and her interest in seeing the suite which had once been reduced to ruin because of the terrorist attack. None of that had seemed suspicious at first, until she specifically began to ask about Jackson. Cold dread had flooded Lisa then, but before she had any time to respond everything had gone black and deathly silent. And then…

And then…

Holy God, where was she _now?_

It took a surprising amount of effort for Lisa to roll from her side onto her back, seeing how she was bound by the wrists and ankles, and even more of an effort to rock herself into a sitting position using only her back and abdominal muscles. By the time she was in a suitable seated position, panting heavily through her gag in the aftermath, Lisa was finally able to take in her surroundings. The room she was in the dark, cold, sealed against the sunlight that tried to filter in through old, worn cracks in the walls. As Lisa's eyes became better adjusted to the dark, the depth and vastness of the room became more eminent, and she could make out what looked like to be the remains of old machinery scattered throughout the space and rusty pulley systems hanging from the ceiling. It almost looked like a warehouse. A very old warehouse that looked to have been out of commission for a very long time.

A million questions raced through Lisa's head at lightning speed. First, the questions were obvious; why was she here? What did they want with her? Then as her head cleared, they became more specific, and focused around a single person who made her blood run cold and her vision bleed red around the edges. Was she here…because of Jackson? It was the only logical explanation she could think of. Who else could it have been? That meant that Lenore had just been a pawn, one of his dogs to lure her into his trap with only one motive in mind.

Revenge. He had finally caught up with her. But why now, after almost a full year since his escape from the hospital?

_Of course._ Lisa thought bitterly. _He was waiting for me to let my guard down. And I walked right into his hands._

But there was no time to be reprimanding herself for mistakes that she couldn't fix. She had to find a way to get out of there, to call for help… Anything. And hopefully she could do so before Jackson had the chance to show up and gloat. Of course, nothing would make her feel better that moment than slapping his smug grin right off his face.

That was, if she could get her hands free first.

_So, first thing's first then; get out of the restraints, and do it fast._

At first, Lisa merely attempted to struggle against the ropes, hoping that the friction would loosen the knots, but it did not take long before her skin began to burn, and a slow trickle in between her fingers told her to stop. Still, the knots held fast. Lisa sighed, thoroughly frustrated, and leaned back against the wall that was directly behind her. As much as she hated to admit it, she was in deep shit. She was unsure of how long it would have taken her coworkers from the Lux Atlantic to realize that she had gone missing, but even when they did, what good would it do her? She didn't have the slightest clue to where she was, so what good would that do for anyone who was trying to find her? She was alone, and completely at Jackson's mercy.

That perhaps scared her more than anything else at that moment.

Somewhere on the opposite side of the warehouse, Lisa heard a mechanical thud, and what sounded like very rusty gears being ground together as dusty yellow light filtered into the empty space somewhere just out of Lisa's line of sight. Her heart pounded back and forth on her ribs, and before the newcomers – who were no doubt the same people that had kidnapped her in the first place – had a chance to realize that she was awake, Lisa fell back to her side with a painful thump, closing her eyes to mock sleep in case they decided to check on her. But as she lay on her side, trying her best to fake unconsciousness, she could hear their voices as they proceeded further into the warehouse. Voices drifted to her through the broken machinery; two male voices, arguing with one female.

"So we have an accord, then. All you have to do is keep an eye on the girl, and you get the second half of your payment as soon as our guest of honor arrives." It was the female voice that was speaking, and Lisa strained her ears towards it. It sounded very familiar. _Lenore?_ "That's not very difficult now, is it?"

"I don't see what all the hassle is about." One of the male voices said in a gruff, but nearly whiney tone. "All this work just to settle some personal grudge? Why not just find the guy yourself?"

"Because I know how Jackson's mind works. He'll only come for something that appeals to him. Especially if the matter of his pride is involved."

Lisa's blood ran cold. _Jackson?_ So he was involved…but he was not the reason why she was here. At least, not the direct reason, and from the sound of it, he was not the one involved with her kidnapping. Lisa felt her head spin. What in the world was going on?

The second man spoke, his voice thoughtful. "This was the same girl that was involved with the Keefe assassination, right? I bet he would pay a pretty penny if we turned this into a ransom…"

There was a harsh slapping noise of flesh striking flesh, accompanied by Lenore's hissing whisper. "Absolutely not! I'm paying you enough for this monkey charade, aren't I? Or do you want the attention of the authorities and have them take a closer look at what you and your thugs are shipping in through the marina? The only one who comes for the little bitch in Jackson, and Jackson alone! And trust me, once he learns I have her dangling like a worm from a hook, just right for the taking, he'll take the bait with no regards to the consequences. Once he shows up, I get what I want, you get what you want, and we all move on with our lives, and it's as simple as that. Or do I need to write it down for you?"

"No, ma'am. Don't worry. We'll watch over the little tart."

"You're goddamn right you will. No one is to leave this warehouse until I give the word. Understand?"

The two men mumbled something in agreement, and Lisa heard the sharp clicking of Lenore's stiletto heels as she walked away. Silence hung supreme in the empty warehouse for several long minutes, then one of the men cursed loudly. "What are you looking at, dipshit? Go set up the table. Might as well do something to pass the time while Ms. Bardwell delivers her precious package."

Lisa's heart thudded behind her ribs with such force that she was surprised the two men in the room didn't hear it. Jackson was not the one who had kidnapped her for his own revenge, that much was clear to her now. But now she was going to used as bait to lure him out of hiding for whatever it was that Lenore had schemed. For some reason, the latter seemed far more terrifying than the prospect of having to face Jackson face-to-face in the warehouse there and now. Lisa knew nothing about this woman or her obvious past connection with Jackson, or why she seemed so hell-bent on getting his attention. There would be no outside contact to the authorities to her whereabouts, no message of ransom to Keefe or her father…nothing. She was wrapped up in some sick game whose motive she could not even begin to fathom.

The need to escape was never as strong as it was with that chilling realization.

With a silent grunt, Lisa pushed herself back up into a sitting position, determined to wriggle her way out of the knots that bound her even if it meant sheering off all her fingers in the process. As she began to struggle, the rope snagged on something on the wall behind her. At first, Lisa felt a flash of annoyance, but as she moved her hands to free herself she felt something sharp slice her skin at the base of her thumb. Blood ran thick and hot between her fingers, but instead of cringing at the pain, a new idea came to mind. Moving slowly to avoid calling attention to herself through her movements, Lisa carefully positioned herself so the rope once again snagged on the sharp piece of metal that jutted out from the wall. With carefully measured strokes, Lisa began to rub the rope against the metal, hoping it would eventually have the same effect on it as it did on her skin. It might have been a long shot, but it was the best hope that she had just short of doing anything that could have resulted in her bleeding to death.

Even as she worked, she could feel the minutes ticking ominously by, and each one that passed felt as though she had taken one step closer to the executioner's block.

-x-x-x-

Most of the time, Jackson had no business in what Rodney and the others did. Although they technically all worked for the same company, the levels of jobs which they operated in kept them isolated in their own spheres of influence. Their company held no alliances, no favorites, no favors. They only catered to the highest bidder, regardless of what country they were from, which political party they were loyal to, which religion they worshipped under. Their "customers" were only faceless people with fat wallets. Nothing else need apply. While Jackson's job as assassination manager was more of a mercenary job than anything else – "_those who pay the highest price get to knock off the political opponent of their choice_", as the job description more or less stated – the lower-ranking intelligence teams were used mostly by local authorities who were on the verge of finding themselves in a potentially dangerous situation, yet were unwilling risk their own necks doing the jobs they were paid for. Monitor drug rings and tapping phone lines were some such examples, and all child's play in Jackson's eyes, though he would never admit that to his friends. So when they were alerted to keep an eye on a group of lowlife drug hustlers that operated out of Miami, Jackson had naturally assumed that it had nothing to do with him.

Until, that was, the night that he was given a rude awakening when Rodney smacked him across the top of the head with a sheet of rolled-up paper, waking Jackson up from the uncomfortable sleep that he had finally fallen into. Sleep had never come easy to Jackson; he was an insomniac by nature, thanks to the high stress of the job and the unpleasant dreams that tended to plague him in his unconscious state. The Louisiana heat and humidity did nothing to help his situation, and so when Rodney woke him up in a less than pleasurable manner, Jackson was alert in an instant, complete with knife in hand and fire in his normally icy blue eyes. When he turned his murderous glare on Rodney, the shorter blonde man jumped perhaps two feet back, hands raised before him in self-defense.

"Whoa, hey! Chill Jackson, it's just me!"

When Jackson realized what was happening, he let his posture relax, the fire disappearing from his eyes and he brought one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. Christ, it would only be a matter of time before he did gut one of them out of sheer reflex. "Rodney…what the hell…?"

Rodney swallowed thickly, sitting down in a chair opposite the couch that Jackson had been laying on. "So…you know about a week back, Higher Ops called about that drug ring from Miami they wanted to watch, right? Well, Lionel was able to intercept a cell phone call earlier this afternoon, and we finally got a new lead on them. Looks like they've moved on from drug smuggling and into the kidnapping business."

If Rodney had expected some sort of reaction from Jackson, then he should have been mildly disappointed when he merely snorted, laying back down on the couch, draping one long arm across his eyes. "And?"

"Well…you know in a case like this, we would be expected to inform Higher Ops, and they take it from there. But…that is…we're not sure how to handle this one, exactly."

"Why? Why's it so hard this time?" He wished that Rodney would just hurry up and get to the point. The guy had been his best friend throughout college, but he was in no mood to deal with one of his mind games.

"You see, it's a little awkward this time. There's no ransom note, no outward motive. Jackson… They got the girl from the Keefe job. Lisa Reisert. She's being held in an abandoned warehouse just along the Florida/Louisiana border."

Jackson felt his attention being snagged like a fish on a long, barbed hook, pulling him violently out of the haze of sleep and hurtling him a year back in time. Lisa? _His_ Lisa? The one person that he had never expected to come back into his life, the one person whom he didn't _want_ back in his life. Even though the bodily wounds she had inflicted upon him had long since healed, the wounds to his pride were still open, raw and oozing, and although nothing would give him more pleasure than taking revenge for all the grief and suffering she caused, the repercussions his employers threatened him with was enough to keep him in place. After a year of healing, he had come to the unsettling conclusion that he would be better off completely erasing Lisa from his mind. He despised her for what she did to him, but as he had once told her, he wasn't suicidal. The little life he had left was not worth the risk. So, naturally, Jackson feigned indifference, covering up the ominous shadow he could feel building at the corners of his mind. "What about her? What's that has to do with us, then?"

"God, Jackson, I know you're not that dense." Rodney was back on his feet, and was already beginning to pace, just as he always did when he went into a rant. "Doesn't it seem the least bit suspicious that she's kidnapped, yet there's been no ransom demand from anyone who might care? I bet you Keefe would pay any random charge simply because he would feel in debt to her, but no one's taken that opportunity. Besides, you don't know the whole story. Lionel didn't find this by chance. It was sent to us."

If news of Lisa's abduction hadn't caught him off guard enough, that was more than enough to throw him through a loop. Rodney nodded, seeing the light of realization in Jackson's eyes. "You know it too, then. Someone's looking for you, Jackson. We don't know who yet. The voice was simulated, and there was no name given. But they obviously have been keeping up with you to assume that you feel that you have unfinished business with her. It's all a setup."

The idea was nothing new. In his short history as a manager, to say that Jackson had made some enemies in his carrier would have been an understatement. He was sure that there were plenty of people out there who wanted his blood. But Rodney was right. Something did not sit well with this situation.

There were many things in this world that irked Jackson, and one of them was when people assumed that they knew him, and thought him to be predictable. Easy. Hungry for revenge. Someone had assumed a great deal about his actions and inner workings, and it made him seethe with a fury on the inside. But he could not let Rodney see how much it upset him.

"Did whoever send this know where we are?"

Rodney shook his head. "No. At least, I wouldn't think so. Lionel picked it up on a major phone line, almost commercial, but one they obviously knew that we listened to on a regular basis. Something's wrong here, Jackson. Really wrong."

A million thoughts were running through Jackson's head, each one more insane than the last. Someone wanted him, and they were using Lisa as the bait. There were endless possibilities to how he could handle the situation. Finally, he stood from the couch, running one hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Where are you going?" Rodney asked.

"Shower. Then I'm going after Miss Reisert."

"Jackson…are you sure about that? If what I assume is true – and I'll bet you a hundred bucks it is – then you'll be playing right into their hands!"

"I don't doubt your judgment, Rodney. Someone's obviously trying to get my attention. I don't want to disappoint them." A devilish grin crossed Jackson's full lips. "Besides, this is outside of Higher Ops' jurisdiction. Someone thinks they know me. I want to prove to them just how wrong they are. You and the others can choose to come or not. I'm not going to ask any favors."

Jackson left Rodney in the main parlor of the house, walking up the grand, yet badly wore down staircase towards the upstairs bathroom. He passed Byron on the way, whose arms were full of what looked suspiciously like canisters of plastic explosives, but his mind was a million miles away, yet focused intensely on one person.

_Lisa…_

His mind was already made up. As easy as it would have been to simply ignore the whole thing, to simply let Lisa rot in whatever hell she had gotten herself into as some sick, long-distance form of revenge, Jackson was not about to brush off this whole situation. This was not about the others, or the company. This was all about him. Whoever was trying to lure him out obviously had some personal grudge against him, and were pulling out all the cheap shots to try to finish it, and assumed that he was shallow enough to play into their hands. Who it could have been, he did not have the slightest notion. The possibilities were endless.

To hell with the consequences.

Besides, what did he have left to loose?

_This isn't about Lisa… It's about me. All about me. That's all that I should be worrying about. Lisa was just unfortunate enough to get caught up in all of it. Her own damn fault, though. If she had just made the damn call to begin with, we could have both moved on with our lives a long time ago. But right now, this isn't about her…_

_But she's still in danger. And it would almost be worth it enough to see the look on her face when you come riding in, her knight in shining armor. Almost._

_It's not about her…_

Jackson stood under a cold shower, milling his plan of action in his head, trying to determine his best course of action, trying to stay focused on the issue at hand. Telling himself over and over that this was between him and whoever wanted his attention. Lisa was merely the bait. And once he was finished with whatever it was he had to do, he could cast her aside just as easily. It was as simple as that.

_It's not about her…_

Was she hurt? Had they hurt her in any way?

_It's not about her…_

He was not worried about her. The little bitch had tried to kill him, for fuck's sake. She deserved what she got. Arrogant bitch.

The sooner she was out of his life again, the better.

_Lisa…_

-x-x-x-

**Author's Note:** The countdown to the reunion has begun. I also ask that you continue to bear with me as I continue to get comfortable with Jackson's character. He's a hard one to tie down. I might re-write this chapter later. It feels rather bland to me. But now it's past 1:30 AM, and I have to work tomorrow.


	6. Chapter Five: Savior

**Author's Note:** It took me forever and a day to figure out how to begin this chapter. Seriosuly. Then I figured hey, when in doubt, go with a quote from the movie. Lo and behold, it worked.

Be warned, there is a bit of violence and language in this chapter. I actually had to tone it down in order to maintain a pg-13 (T) raiting.

The song used in this chapter is, IMO, one of the best suited for Red Eye. I love A Perfect Circle.

-x-x-x-

**Chapter Five**

**Savior**

_Don't fret precious, I'm here_

_Step away from the window_

_Go back to sleep_

_Pay no mind to what other voices say_

_See, they don't care about you, like I do_

_Safe from pain, and truth, and choice,_

_And other poison devils,_

_See, they don't give a fuck about you, like I do_

_Just stay with me_

_Safe and ignorant_

_Go back to sleep…_

_Lay your head down child,_

_I won't let the boogeyman come_

_Count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums_

_Pay no mind to the rabble, pay no mind to the rabble_

_Head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums_

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_You enemies and all your demons_

_I'll be the one protect you from_

_A will to survive and a voice of reason_

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_Your enemies and your choices, son_

_One and the same I must isolate you,_

_Isolate and save you from yourself._

A Perfect Circle, "Pet"

-x-x-x-

_Sometimes bad things happen to good people._

It was one of Jackson's mottos, one of the many slogans that he used to build a wall of unfeeling indifference around his mind and heart in regards to his job. Even he had to admit that being a cold-hearted killer as the job description implied was not easy work, especially when his specialty was the organization and execution of assassinations. Jackson's reputation amongst his coworkers was nothing short than legendary, not only for his young age when he came into the management position or his remarkable ability to complete his jobs without a hitch, but also for nerves as hard as steel, a mind as sharp as razors and a heart as cold as ice. But Jackson was only human in one respect or another, and after nearly ten years of seeing grown men weeping and plead for their lives, or women crying for mercy for the lives of their children… Well, it had the tendency to wear down on one after a while.

It was not so much that Jackson _enjoyed_ what he did. Some people might have called him a murderer, a psycho, a monster even, but in all honesty, Jackson regarded his job as merely another occupation, albeit an unconventional one in the eyes of every other Average Joe. But it paid well – _exceptionally _well – and he was good at what he did. For a while, it had been enough. He was not happy with his life, per sae, but he was more than content with the way things had been going. It wasn't his fault that the main targets of his clients were decent men and honest politicians who probably would have done more than their share of making the world a better place. Money and terror bought the power in this incredibly fucked-up world. It was completely beyond his control. And it was that frame of mind that got him through the day.

Until the Keefe assassination. Until he met Lisa. Then everything had changed, when she had successfully managed to upset his delicate status quo of life. What had it been, exactly? The hurt in her eyes when she came to terms with what his true intentions were? The silent tears that fell from those green eyes like rain when he threatened her lack of cooperation with her father's life? Or had it been that moment, when he had her cornered in the airplane bathroom, when she looked at him directly in the eye and said, very straightforwardly, "_You don't have to do this. Any of this."_

He had the retaliation on the tip of his tongue – _of course I have to do it, you dumb bitch, do you not understand the consequences if I simply cop out and walk away – _but there had been something about her words that had struck a nerve, and completely left him at a loss of words. At that moment, Jackson had felt as though the entire life of his carrier had flashed before his eyes, and for the first time since he was first employed with the company, he began to question his motives, his goal, the whole point to what he did and what good it did to the world…

And he was angry. At that moment, he would have given anything to snap her neck like a twig, simply to make himself feel better…

Then his eyes found her scar.

He _had_ been right. Bad things did happen to good people. That was just how the world worked. Of all people, he would have expected Lisa to know that better than anyone. Not even Jackson would say that she had deserved to be raped, or to be the untimely key component in an assassination plot that, other than her professional connection with Keefe, had nothing to do with her. And now she was being used as the bait to lure Jackson out of hiding, throwing her once more in the middle of a fight that she had no other business with.

A year ago, Jackson honestly wouldn't have given a flying fuck about her welfare. He knew for a fact that one year ago, he would have merely blown the whole situation off, leaving her alone to whatever cruel device her kidnappers might have had planned for her, and leaving them hanging by refusing to indulge them with his appearance. He still had half a mind to do just that, but the hair-line crack that Lisa's words and pleading eyes had created on his oh-so-carefully built walls that day had put a spin on his whole way of thinking.

Perhaps that was the reason that helped him make his ultimate decision to go after her. Not because it was the "right" thing to do by society's standards, nor was it for the sole reason of finding out who exactly was after him. No, he was going after Lisa to convince himself that she truly didn't mean a damn thing to him. Then he could just dump her off in the nearest police department and she truly would be out of his life again. Only this time, it would be forever. Then he would be free to pick up where he left off and get back to what he did for a living, and she would be able to move on from the whole ordeal, to meet some nice schmuck whom she would have a real chance of falling in love with, to get married to, raise a family with…

Jackson felt a strange twisting sensation in his chest at that thought, something alien and unfamiliar. Why would he care what she did with her life after this whole thing was done and over with? He had no reason to ever bother her again, and Lisa would be free to find her happily ever after with a nice guy with a normal carrier.

_Someone who isn't you. Someone who could give her everything that you couldn't._

"So, you're really going through with this aren't you?"

Jackson turned where he stood in the front entryway of the old plantation house to see Rodney, Roxi, Byron and Lionel standing behind them, each wearing their telltale expressions as they stared back at him. The why Rodney's brow quirked with apparent worry, or how Roxi scowled at him from under locks of dark hair, Lionel's cool indifference – even the way Byron fiddled with a new remote, his mind elsewhere other than the here and now – were all more than familiar to Jackson. It was almost comforting in a way, to see his old friends like this. It took him back to a simpler time, when they were still a bunch of rambunctious college kids running amok on the campus instead of living day-to-day with the risks of working for the world's most renowned assassination organization, even it was just Jackson that did the real dirty work.

They were also the same expressions that Jackson had hoped to avoid, to slip away unnoticed into the night before they had a chance to realize that he was gone. It was going to make things so much more difficult.

"Yeah," Jackson said coolly as he turned back to the front door. "I am."

"And you mean to do it alone?" Roxi questioned, her voice bitter.

"This doesn't concern any of you." Jackson said after a brief pause, his hand on the doorknob of the front door. He couldn't make himself look back at them. "I can't ask you to put yourselves in danger because of a personal grudge someone has against me."

"Jackson, going it alone is suicide." Rodney argued. Out of all of them, leave it to the blonde man to be the most rational, the only one who could get Jackson to listen to reason. "Just put your pride on the shelf for two seconds and think. It might be only one person who has a beef with you, but remember they got those drug smugglers involved. They're the one that captured Miss Reisert, and I can bet you any amount of money that they just didn't bugger off when they dumped her off in that warehouse. It's an uneven fight from the beginning."

When Jackson did not say anything for a long moment, it was Byron that finally spoke. "Well…why don't we just follow behind him? You know, Jackie takes the Z-4 and goes ahead of us, and we follow in the van just behind him. Therefore, if he needs backup, we'll be there. Sounds like a decent plan, eh? Besides," he added, brandishing the remote he'd been tinkering with. "I've been itching to try this new system out. Might be the ideal opportunity."

Rodney's brow quirked in thought. "You know, I think Byron's onto something. Except for the blowing stuff up part, I think we'd rather stay incognito for the first part." The blonde man shot a warning glance in Byron's direction, who just pouted in response. "So what do you say Jackson? Insane, but not suicidal. Just how you like it."

Jackson fixed Rodney with his icy glare, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned away again, but just when Rodney thought it was a battle lost, Jackson said, "Sure. Whatever you want."

Rodney let out a silent sigh of relief, grateful for that small victory as he watched his blue-eyed friend leave the house without a backwards glance. Beside him, he heard Roxi scoff. "I just don't get it. This girl fucks up his assignment, almost kills him in the process, and for some reason he's hell bent on saving her ass?"

Rodney smiled sympathetically, draping an arm over his wife's shoulder. "Give him a break, Roxanne. He's was already all bent out of shape since the wedding, and given everything that's happened in the past year… Well, you can't blame him for being a little off balance."

"So what do you think he's planning? A little unfinished revenge?"

"No." Rodney said, shaking his head. "I would call it reclaiming missed opportunities."

-x-x-x-

Hours later…

Days later, even…

Lisa wasn't quite sure. All she knew is that she was still stuck in that damnable warehouse, her hands still bound behind her back, and despite her efforts to try to sheer through the rope that held her with a piece of jagged metal protruding from the wall, she wasn't going anywhere fast. It had taken a surprising amount of effort to try to cut through the rope; more often than not she slipped, resulting in cutting her hands and fingers instead, so now they ached horribly, caked in dried blood. The thought of tetanus kept running across her mind, but she pushed the thought away. There were much more important things to worry about at the moment. On top of that, every now and again the thugs holding her captive would walk by, to make sure that she was not trying anything to escape – much like she was now – and when they did she had to fall back to her side, feigning sleep, until they moved then. Only after she was sure she that they were no longer looking at her she sat back up and continued to work.

She was just grateful that Lenore never returned. Or, for that matter, that Jackson never showed up.

With a frustrated grunt, Lisa pushed back against the jagged metal one last time, and her heart gave a leaping thrill as she finally felt the rope give way, and slacken around her wrists. Not bothering to waste another moment, Lisa struggled free of the rope, feeling her shoulders ache and groan in relief as she finally brought her arms forward and tugged the gag from her mouth. The cool air of the warehouse tasted sweet against her parched throat and tongue. The hardest part was over. Now all she had to do was sneak away from the buffoons that were supposed to be watching her, then sneak away from this place altogether, find the nearest main road and make her way back to a town…

She began to push herself to her feet, but stopped dead at the sound of dry, disgusting laughing behind her.

"Well, well, look what we got here, Tony. Seems the princess is something of an escape artist."

Lisa turned, her blood freezing in her veins to see two incredibly big men standing over her, leering down at her prone form like two hungry predators.

"What do you think we should do with her, Ed?" The other man sneered down at Lisa, his eyes glinting in a way that made her feel sick to her stomach. "Trying to escape is against the rules. Miss Bardwell said so herself."

"Seems to me like a punishment's in order."

Lisa could do little but gape up at them as their words sank in, her mind a spinning vortex of panic and fear, but all words died in her throat. Her arms and legs felt like lead, unresponsive, unmoving. Why wouldn't they move? _Why?_

"What did you have in mind?" Ed asked.

"Miss Bardwell only told us to make sure she stayed put until Rippner arrived. She didn't say anything about what condition she could be in when that happened." Tony bent down to Lisa's level, grasping her chin in one grubby, thick-fingered hand, making her feel filthy just from the contact. "She's a nice piece of ass, isn't she? It's a shame Miss Bardwell ordered us to kill her when all this is over with. Might as well have some fun with her while we can, don't you say, Ed?"

The panic in Lisa's mind escalated to a sheer void of terror, the traumatic event of her rape three years flashing before her eyes in frightening detail.

_It's going to happen again_, her mind screamed as Tony grabbed her roughly by the front of the shirt, the sound of ripping fabric painful in her ears.

_It's going to happen again_ it said again as she felt the man's lips on her neck, his teeth scraping painfully against her skin as the other man's hand found her backside, squeezing hard enough to bruise the skin.

Suddenly the memory of a pair of icy blue eyes flashed before her eyes, canceling out all other thoughts, and she was torn away from the parking lot and back to the red eye flight a year ago, and she remembered; _stabbed him the throat with a pen, escaping him from the airport, hitting his man with an SUV outside her house, stabbing him in the leg with the spike of her high heel, and finally shooting him in his abdomen…_

_All to survive._

_It'll never happen again!_

Lisa brought up her knee into Tony's groin with all the strength her memories gave her, crushing his testicles with the force of the blow and reducing the man to nothing more than a howling mess on the ground. For a moment, his companion only stared dumbfounded at the sight that lay before him, as though the pain that Lisa had inflicted on him had somehow managed to affect the second man too, and she wasted no time in breaking away from his grasp and bolting towards the nearest exit. As soon as she began to run, Ed snapped back to attention, his face contorting in rage.

"You fucking little bitch!" He spat, and took after her.

Lisa ran. She ran harder and faster than any other time in her life, including the time when Jackson was chasing her through her house. For some reason, this seemed so much more terrifying. Perhaps it was because she was in a place completely foreign to her, a place that she did not know like the back of her hand. Or because the man chasing her was not incapacitated from a previous wound. But whatever the reason, she knew that she had to stay one step ahead of him, to stay as far out of his reach as possible. Her very life depended on it.

Her first thought, of course, was to run to the giant rolling door on the far end of the warehouse, the one she knew that Lenore and her thugs had come through earlier that day. But the steel shutter was down, and she did not have the time to try to open them herself, or risk calling more attention to her escape. She had a feeling that Tony and Ed were not the only muscle men that Lenore kept on her leash. Lisa was between a rock and a hard place, and the light of her freedom was dim and very, very far away.

Ed was gaining, her rage fueling his speed. It would not be long before he caught up with her, and she knew it. Lisa came across a row of chairs, stacked neatly before her, and without thinking twice, she grabbed the nearest one and pulled it down, the shout of surprise from behind telling her that they had successfully fallen on Ed, but to her dismay, the toppled tower of chairs brought down several pieces of old machinery with them, the floor of the warehouse now littered with the debris of twisted metal. Once more, she tried to make a break for it, but to her shock and horror, something closed around her ankle and pulled her down and landed, hard, on her side, all the air rushing from her lungs in one painful blow. Stars flashed before her eyes, but she forced them back, looking over her shoulder to see that Ed had a firm hold on her ankle, hellfire flaring in his eyes.

"You bitch!" He snarled. "You're going to wish you're dead by the time I'm finished with you!"

"Fuck you!" Lisa shouted back, and in one powerful motion, kicked the man in the face, driving the heel of his shoe into his bulbous nose, feeling the flesh and bone shatter under the impact. Ed gargled in his blood as it flooded his ruined nasal cavities, but sheer instinct for survival had taken over Lisa's mind, and she kicked again, this time smashing her heel into the man's jaw, once more feeling the crunch of bone under her heel. Ed sputtered once, then lay still, his face unrecognizable through the sea of blood that covered his face and pooled thickly around his head.

Lisa wasted no time after that. She untangled herself from the pile of rubble she had fallen into and was off running again. Never mind that she might have killed the man. Her survival was all that mattered. Running, sprinting across the manufacturing floor, towards a spindly-looking stairwell that clung to the rusty wall. She scaled the steps two and three at a time before reaching the door, pulling it open without much regard for anything that might have been on the other side until it was too late.

Luck was with her that day. The room just beyond was completely empty.

But her heart was still racing at a million miles an hour, and she knew that she was still not out of the fire. She still had to find a way out of this place without getting caught by anyone else, and then far enough away so they would have a harder time tracking her down. She had already injured two of their men – one badly – but she did not know if she would be able to fight off any more if they all came at her at once. But still, she had to try. Just sitting here would do her no favors, nor would it help her escape any faster.

Quickly, Lisa scanned the room she had found herself in. It looked like an office of some sort, long since abandoned, meant for overseeing the work that took place on the warehouse floor below it. There were signs that someone had been here recently, though, most notably from the ashtray sitting on the decrepit desk positioned in front of the observation windows. There was a half-smoked cigarette in the tray, a thin stream of pungent smoke rising from the ashy tip. Someone was here, and recently, and were more than likely coming back at any time. Had they seen her attack the two men who were supposed to be watching her, and had gone for backup? Best not to stick around to find out.

Lisa's eyes caught something laying in the corner before she left the office, an object about two feet long and crafted of cold, crude metal; a crowbar. Lisa considered it for a moment. If she going this alone, it wouldn't hurt to be armed. Beside, a crowbar could do much more damage to a man's skull than a field hockey stick. Never taking her eyes off the door, she bent down to pick the crowbar up, its weight a welcoming comfort in her hands, before she crossed over to the door and slowly, cautiously, opened it. There was nothing but silence in the corridor beyond, and only ventured forth once she was absolutely sure it was empty.

Step by cautious step, Lisa made her way down the bleak, dark corridor, her footfalls echoing painfully off the corrugated walls and ceiling. Every few feet she stopped, listening for any sign that someone was coming up the corridor, or approaching her from behind, before she started forward again, holding the crowbar in a ready-to-strike position to make sure she had the upper hand. To her surprise and welcomed relief, she did not encounter anyone as she reached the end of the corridor, or when she descended down another flight of rickety stairs and entered a maze of office cubicles. Now if her luck could just hold out until she reached an exit she would be home free…

Voices. Coming up from behind her. At least three men.

_Hide!_

Lisa ducked into the nearest cubical, pressing herself as far as she could into the shadows, not daring to even breath as the voices came closer, their footsteps becoming more apparent by the moment.

"Nero found Ed and Tony on the warehouse floor just five minutes ago." One of the men were saying, his voice laced with a frantic tone. "Ed's face is completely smashed in. It's amazing the poor bastard's not dead. And Tony's balls are all busted in, there's blood everywhere."

"And the girl?" A second voice demanded.

"What, do you think the little bitch would honestly hang around after a stunt like that? Not fucking likely."

"Well, find her!" The second voice commanded. "If we loose her, I will guarantee you that Miss Bardwell will turn us over to the authorities _after_ she's skinned us alive and dropped us into vats of salt water!"

The men passed by her cubicle, mere shadowy figures with no faces, but it was not until their voices faded that Lisa at last released the breath she had been holding. Not wanting to think about what the rest of Lenore's lackies would do to her when they found her, Lisa emerged from her hiding spot and continued on, all her senses on fire. She weaved in and out of the cubicles, ducking into shadows at the slightest hint of sound other than her own footsteps, and after what felt like hours, the dim glow of the exit sign finally came to sight.

The light at the end of the tunnel. It was the most glorious sight that Lisa had ever seen in the world, and she could not help but grin like a fool when she saw it. Before she knew what she was doing, Lisa was running towards the exit, her escape drawing closer and closer with each passing step…

"Hey, you!"

Lisa stopped in her tracks, cold dread sweeping through her as she spun around on her heel. Someone was standing behind her, hidden in the shadow, but was wasting no time advancing on her. For the life of her, Lisa could not make herself move!

"Alright miss, the fun stops here." The man said dangerously, his hand hovering somewhere around his hip. "No tricks. Set the crowbar down and just cooperate, and you won't get hurt." When Lisa did not lower the crowbar – he limbs felt frozen, she was not sure if she could drop it even if she had wanted to – the man sighed, then pulled out the gun from its holster at his hip, aiming the barrel at her head. "I'm not going to ask again. Drop the goddamn crowbar and get the fuck over here."

Lisa did not respond. Could not respond. The walls were closing in around her.

The man sighed, and the sound of the gun being cocked resonated through the warehouse.

A shot was fired. Lisa's eyes snapped shut, and all time seemed to slow to a stop as she waited for the impact of the bullet, waited for the blinding pain and for the darkness to overtake her before there was nothing left at all…

But it never came. And when she finally dared to open her eye, she realized that she was still standing, alive and unscathed, and it was the man who was laying motionlessly on the ground. When rationality and reason finally returned to her, Lisa dared to look behind her, and found herself staring at the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen in her life, the owner of those eyes was holding the gun that killed the other man, the silencer tip still smoking.

In spite of their past, of all the differences and tension and maybe even hatred between the two former enemies, Lisa could not help but smile.

"You told me you were a lousy shot."

Jackson shrugged, indifferently. "Sometimes I get lucky."

Relief as Lisa had never experienced before crashed over her like a tidal wave, overwhelming her with such emotion that she never bothered to stop the tears that flooded her eyes, blurring Jackson's form in her eyes. Then, before she knew it was happening, before she could stop herself, she closed the distance between them in one short sprint, her arms synching around his lithe waste before either had a chance to stop the action. She would never be entirely sure why she embraced Jackson like she did, even when she thought back on her actions at a later time. Perhaps it was merely seeing someone familiar, someone who was not a stranger using her from some twisted plot, regardless that it had been Jackson himself the first time around. Or maybe it was just the relief of feeling someone solid and warm against her own body. Or maybe it was because she knew that even if there was a part of Jackson that was still intent on taking his revenge on her, then at least she knew that as long as she was with him, nothing else could hurt her.

"Leese…"

The slight rasp of Jackson's voice pulled Lisa back to reality, making her suddenly embarrassed by her actions. _Christ, what was that all about? This man tried to kill me and my father and I'm suddenly as happy to see him like a childhood friend? _

There was a brief flicker of confusion in Jackson's eyes when Lisa broke her contact with him, confusion and something else she could not name, but then it was gone as his all-too-familiar icy façade fell back over his expression. "Come on. We have to get out of here before more come."

_Damned if I do, damned if I don't._

Jackson took hold of Lisa's wrist with one strong, calloused hand, and before she had a chance to protest, he was pulling her towards the exit of the building.

_Looks like I'm damned if I do._

It was as though everything was happening in slow motion. The two former enemies broke out into a run as voice sounded from behind him, running side-by-side as they crossed the threshold just as gunfire resonated through the warehouse, and Lisa was just behind Jackson as they tore across the old weed-choked field outside the warehouse, the sky ablaze with the coming dusk. Down the crumbled driveway, past a handsome BMW Z-4, and towards a worn down, beaten van that stood as though waiting for them, the engine humming. As they approached, the side door was flung open, and a petite woman with dark hair poked her head out, yelling at Jackson to "move his ass", if Lisa could remember right. Jackson did not enter the van right away, but rather waited until Lisa was successfully inside before climbing in himself. The door slid shut with an empty bang, and time resumed its normal pace.

Lisa blinked, at last coming with terms with what had just happened. She had just been rescued by Jackson Rippner, and was now in a van with him and three other people that she assumed were his companions; the dark-haired woman wearing a black tank-top and cameo pants, a blonde, squatter man who was driving the vehicle, and a lanky, horse-faced man who was staring at Lisa intently from other the front seat.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Reistert!" The lanky man greeting, grinning broadly.

But before Lisa could ask who any of them were, or why Jackson of all people was the one who rescued her, something closed over Lisa's mouth and nose, and the familiar rank of chloroform invaded her senses.

"Sorry, Leese." Jackson's voice said from behind. "But we can't have you freaking out and telling anyone where we're going."

And for the second time in forty-eight hours, Lisa was consumed by the inky blackness of unconsciousness.

-x-x-x-

_Swaying to the rhythm of the new world order and_

_Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums_

_The boogeymen are coming, the boogeymen are coming_

_Keep your head down, go to sleep! _

_To the rhythm of the war drums_

_Stay with me,_

_Safe and ignorant_

_Just stay with me_

_Hold you and protect you from_

_The other ones_

_The evil ones_

_Don't love you son_

_Go back to sleep_

-x-x-x-

**Author's Note:** Don't let that little tender moment daunt you. Just because Lisa was happy to see Jackson at that split second, doesn't mean that it's going to last, especially after she gets chloroformed…again. Poor girl. This is not a fluff fic…that's about as fluffy as it's get for a long while…and so there is much of our beloved Jackson/Lisa angst and drama to come.


	7. Chapter Six: Famous Last Words

Chapter Six 

**Famous Last Words**

-x-x-x-

_Kill your senses, you might be right_

_Hold your fire, I'll take you higher_

_Never drop, we'll never stop_

_Tar for feathers_

_Blood for honey_

_Milk for money_

_Isn't it funny how it hurts…_

_How it hurts…_

_You'll never see me make the same mistake twice_

_You'll never see a tear coming out of these eyes_

_You'll never see me beg for another shot_

_And you'll never see me change into something I'm not_

_Famous last words_

Zeromancer, "Famous Last Words"

-x-x-x-

The world was still plunged in darkness, but a high-pitched whine filled Lisa's ears, driving into her head like a barrage of needles to further agitate the headache that seemed to split her skull along the seems. Groaning, Lisa pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, but when she was at last was able to pry them open, she was blinded by the bleach-white florescent bulb glaring down at her from an unknown source. The world gradually came back into focus, and Lisa realized that the light was coming from a lamp attached to a corrugated metal roof, a small army of moths drawn to the harsh, unfeeling light. The electric hum of the lights intermingled with a chorus of natural voices – crickets and frogs and the midnight lullaby of a mockingbird – and all sharply contrasted by the bitter scent of gasoline.

Her head gave another heavy throb as Lisa pushed herself into a sitting position, and she realized that she was inside a van, her head formally supported by a rolled-up sweater, and she had been looking out of the open side door. For a split second, panic seized her when, for the life of her, she could not recall where she was or how she got there before all the events leading up to this moment came back to her all at once. She remembered her escape from the warehouse that Lenore's goons had held hostage in, rescued by of all people…

Lisa's blood ran cold.

Jackson Rippner. The man who had once tried to take her life had been the one to save it. The only thing she could not figure out was _why_.

"Aspirin?" A soft voice asked to Lisa's right. Unfamiliar, but gentle and friendly. She looked up to see the blonde man who had been driving the van offering a couple of white pills and a bottle of water. "You look like you need it."

Lisa only hesitated for a heartbeat, but another throb from the ache behind her eyes made her decision for her. She took the aspirin from him with a muttered word of thanks before downing them both in a single swallow. Her thirst got the better of her and she downed most of the water of in the bottle gratefully, taking a moment to observe their surroundings. They had stopped at a gas station, as Lisa had properly guessed, but it looked so old and run-down that she was surprised it was still operational at all. There were only two pumps that offered only one kind of gas, the total price ticked off by old-fashioned flipping digits rather than a digital face used elsewhere anymore. The neon lights that marked the station guttered sickly and half of the letters that simply spelt out "gas" were burnt out. The station itself was little more than a shack, looked over by a sour-faced old man with what looked chillingly like a shotgun lying across his lap as he watched them suspiciously. There was little beyond the gas station except the darkness of the night. The two-lane highway that was visible from the van was empty, devoid of any other light source or moving vehicle, and beyond that was only a wall of solid vegetation, thick and wild and overgrown. "Where are we?"

"About sixty miles east of the Louisiana state line. We didn't want to stop, but some things can't be helped." Lisa nodded absently as she finished the last of the water. That would explain why the air felt so heavy, so close. There was no humidity quite like Louisiana humidity. "Do you think those goons are following us?"

"I'm sure they'll sure as hell try, but they're long behind us. While Jackson went in for you, Roxi took the liberty of pulling the sparkplugs out of their vehicles. Nothing that can't be repaired quickly, but we were kind of on a tight schedule to do anything really creative. Still, it'll slow them down enough that we can get far enough ahead before they can ever hope to catch us." The blonde man explained, sitting next to Lisa in the open door of the van. If the man was somehow affiliated with Jackson – which she was sure he was, granted that Jackson probably wasn't one to deal with anyone outside of his work – he certainly didn't seem like it. Ever since Jackson revealed he worked for a company that dealt with "flashy, high-profile assassinations" she had imagined it as an association of people wearing black suits and sunglasses who all drove blacked-out SUVs, but the man sitting next to her fell far from her expectations. He had a round, boyish type face under a mop of messy blonde hair, and looked like he would be far more comfortable sitting behind a computer screen than being involved in Jackson's line of work. "My name's Rodney, by the way." He said suddenly, as if able to read Lisa's mind, extending his hand politely towards her. "Sorry it took so long to introduce myself."

Lisa took his hand in one short, vigorous shake. "Lisa. Lisa Reisert."

"Nice to finally be able to meet you, Miss Reisert. We've heard a lot about you in the past year. It's nice to be able to finally put a face with the name."

Lisa laughed shortly, but it sounded horribly awkward. "I don't know if I should consider that a good thing or a bad thing."

Rodney shrugged, a good humored grin on his face. "In all honesty, I was getting tired of hearing the same stories over and over. Jackson tends to have a bad habit of dwelling on things, no matter how much he'll deny it."

This time Lisa's smile did flicker at the mention of Jackson's name, suspicion stirring subconsciously in the back of her mind. "So…you and Jackson work together then?"

The man sitting next to her nodded absently, not noticing her sudden discomfort as he took a drink from his own water bottle before continuing. "Yeah, as well as the two others that you saw with us. My wife Roxanne – don't call her that, by the way, she always goes by 'Roxi' instead – Byron and Lionel. Byron was the one with us, Lionel's still back at base. With the exception of Lionel, we all met back in college, and when Jackson got in with the cooperation, we went with him. Sure, we're not hotshot managers like he is and only a lowly intelligence team, but that doesn't mean we still didn't keep in touch. After the Keefe assassination last year – or, should I say, the _attempted_ Keefe assassination – Jackson got dumped back on us and has been at our base ever since. Hence, knowing about you before tonight."

Lisa nodded, forcing back the lump that was rising in her throat, feeling suddenly more than a little intimidated by the man sitting next to her. Although Rodney's voice held no hint of spite or outward dislike of her, knowing that she was talking to not only one of Jackson's coworkers, but his friend, suddenly made her feel very uncomfortable. She felt her palms become slick with sweat, but she fought to not let her apprehension show through. "Where's Jackson?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, like an itch on the inside of her chest that was begging to the scratched. Rodney looked surprised at her words, as though it was something he hadn't expected her to want to know.

"Brooding, most likely." Rodney answered. Then he leaned closer, speaking to her in a tone of voice that she was only supposed to here. "Look, whatever happened between you and Jackson last year isn't any of our business. It's done and over with and yeah, I wouldn't have been too happy if he died from those wounds you gave him, but the point is that he's still alive

. The rest of us don't have anything against you, but I would advise it would be best to try to stay off his bad side. Or, at least, to not get any deeper into it than you already are. Even if he were to try something to hurt you, we wouldn't let him, but mostly because we've spent the last year trying to keep him out of trouble, and the last thing any of us needs to get involved in is another messy encounter between the two of you. So if you mean to confront him about what happened last year…don't. It will only make things that much more difficult. Truth be told, I don't know what we're up against right now, and we don't need to add any personal vendettas to the mix."

Lisa met Rodney's gaze, unblinking, considering his words. He was right, of course. Painfully right. From just hearing the diamond-hard tone of her voice, the ice in her eyes, Lisa could count on that Lenore would not be one who would let her escape go unpunished, especially if she got away with the person that she was trying to lure to the warehouse to begin with. Her thugs would be looking for her…looking for both of them. They would have enough problems to deal with in the near future as it was, and the last thing that either she or Jackson needed was even more excuses to hate each other than they already did.

But was it really hate? You don't go out of your way to save someone you hate beyond reason, nor do you hug them when they come to your rescue, regardless if you asked them to or not.

"So…what happened, exactly? How did you guys find me? And, most importantly, how did I get involved with this to begin with?"

To her dismay, Rodney shook his head, blonde hair falling over his eyes. "I personally couldn't tell you. We were able to find you by tapping a phone line, which was a one in a million chance. The rest, though? Couldn't tell you if my life depended on it. Jackson seemed to know a little more, but he wouldn't tell us a thing before he insisted on going after you."

_Jackson insisted on coming after her?_ It was a novel concept to Lisa, for reasons she couldn't even begin to explain. If she were a simpler, more irrational woman, she would have assumed that it would have been for no other reason to make sure that no one took his chance for revenge away from him, but now she knew better. There some something deeper afoot here, something that she did not understand. Jackson would have his reasons, and they would benefit no one but himself.

"I have to talk to him." Lisa said simply, swinging her feet through the open door of the van and standing. Her legs shook under her, her knees still weak from the combined effects of the chloroform and the overall exhaustion of the past two days, but she was able to remain standing. Rodney was looking at her skeptically, so Lisa added for assurance, "I'm not going to start anything. I just have to ask him some questions."

Lisa headed off in the direction Rodney had pointed her in, walking away from the van and the gas station and into the closing darkness of the night. On her way she spotted the woman who had been in the van – Rodney's wife, Roxanne (_Roxi_, Lisa reminded herself) – and for a brief moment she thought it would have been polite to introduce herself, but the warning glance the dark-haired woman shot in her direction made her think twice. It came to Lisa's attention that just because Rodney did not hold a grudge against her did not mean that Jackson's other companions would not feel the same way. Best to keep walking and avoid any potential confrontations while she could. Dealing with Jackson was going to be hellish enough. The last thing she needed was any problem from any of his coworkers.

She found him on the edge of the oasis on the deserted rural highway, right where the pool of light from the station was swallowed by the shadows of the night. He stood there, silent, a specter poised on the edge of light and dark. Lisa paused mid-step upon seeing him, her heart leaping into her throat, her courage wavering dangerously. It was suddenly as if she was seeing him again for the first time since the red eye flight, completely omitting the rescue from the warehouse. Although his back was towards her, his presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating her. It was as if she was back in the airplane cabin again and not in the Mississippi wilds; confined, trapped by the aura of a man who had to be in control of all situations at all times, damn the consequences. But how in control he was now, when Rodney had openly admitted that they did not know who they were up against and even less about their motives? If there was one things Lisa knew all too well about Jackson, it was how dangerous he could be when he lost that hold of that tightly-reigned control.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for any and all inevitable conflicts, and was even ready to say something – she wasn't sure what, anything was better than this damnable silence – but Jackson beat her to it.

"Are you planning on just standing there and gawking all night or were you planning on saying something?"

The unexpected sound of his voice caused Lisa to choke on the breath she had been holding, her lungs burning from the effort of trying not to cough. Jackson turned to face her, slowly, almost in a surreal manner, the light of the gas station illuminating just the highlights of his face and leaving the rest in shadow. His eyes… Lisa shivered as the forced herself to look into his eyes. They were just as she remembered, those deep pools of frozen crystal that plagued her every dream and haunted her every nightmare. And they were cold…so cold. Cold and lifeless and devoid of all emotion, making him impossible to read. It was suddenly difficult to believe that this was the same man who had willingly saved her life only a few hours ago. Memories bombarded Lisa's mind at frightening speeds, overwhelming her with flashbacks from the red eye flight with such ferocity that it made the knees weak and unable to find her voice. But she refused to let it show as she held his gaze, her jaw set stubbornly. Jackson titled his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What's wrong, Leese? No word of thanks? Not very good manners towards someone who just saved your life."

Lisa swallowed thickly, fighting to keep her voice steady as she spoke, no allowing herself to be provoked. It was surprisingly difficult to do. "You did save my life, I'll give you that much. But I think I deserve an explanation to what the hell's going on."

Jackson continued to stare at her for one long, hard moment, his eyes boring into hers, then he abruptly turned away. "Sorry, Lisa, I couldn't tell you anything more than what you already know."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to let him treat her as though she were stupid and incompetent. "Enlighten me," she challenged. "It's the least I deserve for having to deal with you again."

The air between them was thick with tension and tainted with venom, leaving a bitter taste on Lisa's tongue. She was struggling for control, holding the reigns of her temper to keep herself from lashing out at him. Never mind the fact that he had saved her from those goons back at the warehouse. This was the second time that he had barged into her life, usurping everything that she had so carefully rebuilt over the years. And even though he might have been the one who personally kidnapped her the second time around, he sure as hell had a part to play in it. When he didn't answer, she ground her teeth in frustration. "Well? I'm waiting."

She heard Jackson sigh in the darkness, the breath of air tainted with a faint, rasping hiss that wasn't there before. His voice might have sounded healed, but the mark of what she had done to him still lingered, a scar that was as evident in his voice as the scar on her chest was. "You're getting all worked up over nothing, again. There's no reason to try to stir up animosity over something that has nothing to do with you."

"The hell it does!" Lisa snapped back, completely forgetting her promise to Rodney about not starting anything. "Some psycho woman barges into my hotel, her thugs kidnap me, and then I'm used as bait to lure _you_ out, and all you can say is that it doesn't have anything to do with me?"

Suddenly Jackson was there, standing over her before she had the chance to blink, capturing her wrist in a grip like iron, his eyes blazing. Pain lanced up Lisa's arm as Jackson's vice-like grip on her wrist tightened, forcing her into subdued silence. "You just answered your own question, _Leese_." He hissed at her, like a cobra ready to strike. "Yes, someone is after my blood, and yes, they thought they were clever in using you to get my attention. But now, if you haven't noticed, that have lost that leverage, so there's no reason why I shouldn't just dump you right here in the middle of nowhere. But the point of the matter is that I can't have you running to the police and dragging them into this and messing everything up again. The lives of my companions aren't worth that, especially when they have no place in this fight. So the least you can do is act a little grateful that I saved your ass when I owe you absolutely _nothing_ after what you've done to me."

Lisa held his gaze, hoping that he could not see the small glimmer of fear that she was sure was there. She was not afraid of him, per sae; her victory over him has destroyed all traces of primal fear of this man, but she could not deny that he was still incredibly intimidating, and she had not forgotten what he was capable of. In the dime light, Lisa could see the small, circular scar at the base of his throat, driving the reality of what she had done to him – what they had done to each other. She watched as a muscle in his tensed as he clenched it. He was waiting for her to say something, daring her; something irrational so he could throw it back in her face. Or snap her wrist in anger. The grip he maintained on her hand promised at least that much. A thousand questions raged in her mind, but when she finally filtered them out only one remained above all the others, begging to be asked.

"Why did you save me, then?"

Although his icy façade did not falter, something flashed through Jackson's eyes, but it was so quick and fleeting that if Lisa had blinked, she would have missed it entirely. Before she had the chance to decipher what it was, Jackson released his hold on her wrist and turned away from her, retreating back into the shadows as though he couldn't look at her anymore. "I don't enjoy the fact that people think they can control me. Is someone has a score to settle against me, then they're going to have to come to me, and not the other way around. You might not have had anything to with this up until now, but now we're both up to our necks in it, whether you choose to accept it or not. So if you want to chance staying here and wait for them to catch up to you, then be my guest. If not, then I suggest we make the best of the situation and attempt to at least act civilized to one another until this whole thing is over."

Lisa blinked slowly, regarding the man who stood before her. Never before had she met anyone so enigmatic, so utterly baffling in almost every aspect about him. One moment he was sarcastic, mocking, provoking her anger, only to turn his own temper on her when she retaliated against him. But now, his voice was soft, almost remorseful, and he didn't meet her eyes when he spoke. The last action was mildly unnerving, like a prickle between her shoulder blades. There was only one other time when he didn't look at her when he had something to say; when he explained to her in his calm, cold manner, that he had no business who was killed in what way in his line of work. All he did was set all the pawns where they needed to be. There had been a note of compunction in his voice then, his earlier arrogance gone. It was not an aspect of the flight that Lisa had dwelled on before, but now she wondered what inspired such a change.

"Hey, guys!"

Both Lisa and Jackson turned towards the voice. Rodney was walking towards them, his silhouette backlit against the lights of the gas station. Lisa hesitated, wondering how much the blonde man had heard, but he showed no sign that he had observed the conflict between the two that had taken place only moments before. "The van's all fueled up and ready to go. I don't know about you two, but I don't exactly want to give those guys any chance to catch up to us any time soon. What say you we get a move on?" When neither Lisa nor Jackson answered right away, Rodney looked back and forth between the two of them, and Lisa could almost see the skeptical look on his face through the shadows. "Or is there some sort of problem?"

"No, Rodney." Jackson said, his voice stronger than it had been before, betraying any sort of emotion Lisa had once thought was there. "There's no problem at all." Without so much as a glance at her, Jackson brushed past Lisa, heading back towards the van as though she was not there at all. For one scant moment, Lisa felt rather put off by his indifference towards her, but quickly decided that this was neither the time nor the place to dwell on such thoughts. She followed the two other men without question.

When Lisa returned to the van, she noted that Roxi was already inside, crouched just inside the door, watching Lisa in a way that reminded her of a large predatory cat. It was clear to Lisa that the darker women either did not trust her or did not like her, or a nasty combination of both. Whatever the cause of her open animosity was, Lisa decided not to make it worse, and did her best to keep her distance as she climbed into the back of the van, retreating to the furthest corner and huddling against the back door. Jackson climbed into the front seat without so much as a backwards glance, sitting down in the worn seat with a huff as though Lisa was not there at all. Just before Rodney made his way to the driver's seat, he paused, looking back towards the gas station. "Anyone seen Byron?"

As though on cue, the taller, lankier man stumbled out of the run-down shack of the station, his arms full of what looked like groceries. He clambered into the van without a word to anyone, oblivious to Jackson's cynical glance out the passenger side window. "Have fun?" Roxi asked, speaking for the first time since Lisa first saw her.

"We were low on milk." Byron stated matter-of-factly. "I figured I might as well have picked some up while we stopped, seeing as I'm the only one who seems to think of these things."

"Explosives tech and homemaker. It makes me wonder why you're still single." Rodney said with a smile as he climbed into the driver's seat, the engine rumbling as he turned the key in the ignition. "Shall we?"

Without another word, they drove off into the darkness of the Mississippi back roads. And against all logical reason, Lisa went with them, without question, without a word of complaint. Away from her home, away from any form of real safety, away from her father, who was no doubt by now well aware of her disappearance, and probably raising a good bit of hell looking for her.

Her options were so limited it was nearly suffocating. Dealing with Jackson Rippner again, or being left behind to the mercy of the Mississippi wilds and to whoever was after them, but the lesser of two evils was evident.

After all, what other choice did she have?

-x-x-x-

**Note:** I love Zeromancer. Their music fits with the best and worse of situations.

I was going to hint at Jackson's past at the end of this chapter, but I figured it would give me better leverage to begin the next chapter with.

If I thought writing Jackson alone was going to be difficult, writing the first real interaction between Lisa and Jackson seemed to make my previous challenge pale by comparison. Writing this chapter was like untying a very intricate knot; you pick and pull and experiment with different intertwining loops until you find that one combination that allows you to make the string straight again. I have a feeling the next few chapters will be like this, seeing how they're the one part of this story that I don't know what will happen scene-to-scene. So bear with me if updates are lacking. I'm also back and school, and therefore can only sit down to write when I can spare the time to (multiple art projects due all at once doesn't help my situation). I'm also still getting a feel for the characters of his friends and pinning down their personalities. If you need help visualizing who is who, here's a list of ideal actors I have compiled for each of Jackson's allies.

**Rondey:** Steve Zahn

**Roxanne (Roxi):** Michelle Rodriguez

**Byron:** Hank Azaria (Keep in mind that I have his character Agador from _The Birdcage _in mind as I write this, and I did that on purpose)

**Lionel**: A young Willem Dafoe (?)

Until next time, lovelies!


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